The Keeper of Truth
by Trisha
Summary: “There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about. NOW COMPLETE!
1. Default Chapter

The Keeper of Truth  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.  
  
Rating: R for now. Maybe more later.  
  
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, email me..  
  
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com  
  
Author's Note: Due to the fact that for some reason, I can't post italics on ff.net, thoughts are put into brackets like these.  
  
Thanks to Wendy for the beta work. Good luck with the wisdom teeth!  
  
And (not to be redundant) thanks to Sass Angel for WAY more help than I deserve. Beta work, listening to my plot ideas, the summary… you're the best! Thanks so much! This wouldn't have been written without you.  
  
  
  
  
  
*************************************************************  
  
I'm the keeper of  
  
this little piece of paper  
  
this little piece of truth  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
If I could take the hour Death moved into you  
  
undeclared, unnamed -even if sweet, if I could take that hour  
  
between my forceps, tear at it like a monster  
  
wrench it out of your flesh, dissolve its shape in quicklime  
  
and make you well again  
  
no, not again, but still…  
  
- Adrienne Rich  
  
*************************************************************  
  
  
  
At first, all Buffy knew of the world was the smell of rain on grass. Rich, pungent… but not heavenly. Something was wrong. Several minutes passed before she could feel the slick wetness against her cheek. Rain she thought, That can't be right. It doesn't rain in heaven Sensation slowly returned to her body. It crept up her legs and over her torso, a warm, muddy feeling so heavy that she gasped for air as it hit her chest and face. This is… being alive. But…   
  
Blinking in the stinging light of a streetlamp, she realized that she was lying facedown in the grass. Over her head loomed the gray arch of a gravestone. Maybe if I lay still, I'll go back to heaven. Or, I'll wake up and this will all have been a dream. She pressed her body down hard against the grass and rolled her cheek over the wet blades, as if trying to sink back into the grave beneath. That's stupid. There are no dreams in heaven.  
  
Groaning, she rolled onto her back and looked up into the night sky. Tears slipped out of the corners of her eyes unnoticed. "No," she whispered in a rough voice. Coughing to clear her throat, she tried again. "This… this is wrong. A mistake, someone made a mistake. I'll just stay lying here 'till they let me come back." She closed her eyes and covered them with her hands. Mommy, she thought, her inner words half-yearning and half- pleading. This has to be a mistake.  
  
Buffy felt the fight before she heard it. Slayer senses, though long out of practice, sent icy prickles down her skin. All her doubts were dispelled by the awakening of her awareness. She must be alive, because there were vampires nearby, at least a dozen of them. She could feel their aggression, their hunger. But if I move, this will be real. I'll… I'll be real. A scream broke through the fog inside her mind, followed by a raucous laugh. Later, Buffy, she told herself. Act now, think later. She jumped to her feet, cursing at the way her muscles pulled and ached. "Dead or alive, I guess I'm still the Slayer," she said, searching the shadows for the vampires. "Lucky, lucky me."  
  
Thirty feet away, near the back wall of a concrete mausoleum, two groups of vampires were huddled over what appeared to be two bodies. The larger group, apparently playing with their prey, moved around the corner, out of her view. Buffy advanced towards the smaller group first, picking up a stick on the way. She quickly killed the three vampires before they even knew she was behind them. I may've been dead, but I'm not out of practice. That's gotta be a plus. Vamp dust sprinkled over the bleeding body of their victim: a teenage girl, barely older than Dawn, and obviously dead. Feeling disassociated from the reality of her situation, Buffy looked down at the corpse. She passed her hand over the air above the girl's slack face in a silent gesture of apology. You'll like it, where you're going. I did.  
  
Slinking along the wall, Buffy paused at the edge of the corner. She peered around the bend. Ten of them, one of me, she thought, tightening her grip on her stick. Pretty bad, but it's been worse. The vampires talked loudly and out of turn, shouting to be heard over each other's voices. She struggled to discern meaning from the ruckus, but could only make out fragments of what they were saying. Their victim was hidden from site, but Buffy could tell from the way the vampires directed their taunting words downwards that he or she sat on the ground in the center of their gang.  
  
She stepped away from the wall and, without warning, staked the closest vampire and the one standing beside him before the others could react. A third vamp charged her, growling. She shoved the stick into his chest, then turned to give the same treatment to another. And another. They fell on her, a rush of arms and foreheads and growls. Focusing most of her energy on staying upright, she tried to take them one at a time. The dust from their bodies coated her hands, making them slip on the stick. Three more, she thought, kicking a vampire in the chest and staking the one next to him. Two  
  
The last vampire backed away from her, his hands held in the air. "Please, please don't," he whined, his eyes wide. "I won't do nothing, just don't hurt me."  
  
Buffy grabbed his shaking body by the throat in a quick, snake-like movement. "It won't hurt a bit," she said flatly, punching the stick into his chest and backing away to avoid the cloud of dust that rose where the vampire had been standing.  
  
"Hey Slayer! You missed one," called a familiar voice from behind her.  
  
She spun around, her stick held in front of her body. "Spike," she said, dropping her shoulders. "It's only you." Closing her eyes, she sighed. Reality came flooding back to her. She had to be alive. There were no vampires in heaven, not even neutered ones. Being upset about it wouldn't change anything, but… I don't want to be here. It's… it's *wrong* here. Keeping her eyes closed, she dropped her stick to the ground. "What happened? Why am I back?"  
  
"You went somewhere?" Spike cocked his head, studying her. "You look worse than I do, Slayer. What, someone drop an organ on you, too?"  
  
"What are you talking about?" She opened her eyes and looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time. The same bleached hair, the same cocky eyes, the same… wheelchair? "What happened to you?" she said, moving towards him. "Was it Glory? Where's Dawn, is she safe?"  
  
Spike snorted and wheeled backwards a few paces, away from Buffy. "What happened? That's cold, Slayer, really cold. Now, me, I'd remember if I put my mortal enemy into a wheelchair. In fact, I'd revel in the moment, you being said enemy and all. But apparently, it meant much less to you."  
  
"I… I did this? But…" Buffy wavered, suddenly lightheaded. "No. That was years ago, Spike. Before… everything. I don't know what your game is, but quit messing around. Something's happened, something bad. I mean, look at me! I'm here!"  
  
"So? It's a cemetery. You're the Slayer. Where else would you be."  
  
"So!" She took deep breaths, but it was impossible to steady her erratic pulse. "Spike," she said, trying again. "Just please stop this. Tell me where Dawn is. I need to know."  
  
"Don? Who is he, your new snogging partner?" Spike moved another few feet away. "Wouldn't want to be him when Angelus finds out you've moved on to warmer pastures. Or is he a vampire, too? You know what they say, pet. Once you've gotten a taste of cold comfort, there's no going back."  
  
Shaking her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts, Buffy said, "Angelus? What… what happened? Angel, did he… the curse, is it…?"  
  
"If you haven't noticed already that your honey's all evil again, then you must be totally off your rocker." Narrowing his eyes, he stilled his hands on top of the wheels. "Is that it? You've gone round the bend? Hit your head or something? Drusilla makes more sense than you are, Slayer, even when she's chatting with her dolls." With a scowl, he spat, "or with her 'daddy'."  
  
"Her… her daddy? Dru and Angel are… together?" Strange and disturbing thoughts began to race through her mind. "Together as in, really together?"  
  
"Hello! Yes! Why do you think I'm out here, talking to you of all people? Don't you think I'd rather be splitting some nice, ripe toddler with Drusilla? But no… you had to go shack up with Peaches and turn him back to our side. And look what you've caused! All I did was let Dru in on a harmless little secret of Angelus's- a secret by the name of Shameless Undead Lapdancer, but still, harmless enough- and what does he do? He's sent my own minions after me, he has! You should know, you just dusted them! I can't show my face anywhere near the factory, which means I can't even be in town since Sunnyhell is such a sodding tiny place!"  
  
"Umm…" Buffy stood near the side of the mausoleum, rubbing her eyes with both hands. Upon opening them, she found the world spinning. She sagged against the wall, slamming her eyes shut. "Spike…stop talking…"  
  
"And it's not like I can hunt like this," he said. "Dru had to feed me like I was some sort of weakling! Then she just sends me out to starve to death, and doesn't care a wit about it. All she cares about is having her 'daddy' back. She'd stake me herself if I went back to the factory! And if she missed, well, then dear old daddy would have me in an ashtray before I got one wheel in the door."  
  
"Spike," Buffy said again, sliding down the wall to the ground. She knelt in the dirt, weak and dizzy, her head bowed. "Please, shut up a minute, will you?"  
  
Spike looked at her, considering. "You better run along now, love. I might not be up to killing you, but Angelus and Dru are out and about, looking for me. They'd be delighted to find you all out-of-sorts."  
  
"Dru… and Angelus. Together," Buffy said, resting her forehead against the cold, stone wall. Her head began to clear as she realized what was happening. It was too insane to be true, but there was no other explanation. "You have no idea who Dawn is. And you're not chipped, I'm guessing, since you're talking about eating toddlers."  
  
"Bully for you, you've figured it out. What, you really did get a knock on the head?" He smirked down at her. "This couldn't have happened a few months ago, now could it. No, I finally catch the Slayer at a disadvantage, and I can't do a bloody thing about it." Pounding his hands on the arms of his wheelchair, he growled. "Thanks to you."  
  
"And you're in a wheelchair… which means, either I'm in a mental ward somewhere, or this is 1998." She jumped to her feet, suddenly wary. Bracing herself with one hand against the wall, she said, "I know I'm not crazy, so… umm, if this is 1998, then why are you talking to me? Shouldn't you be running or… well, wheeling away?"  
  
"Not much point to that. You'd catch up before I got ten feet away. These wheels weren't meant to roll on grass. Might as well talk to you- got nothing to lose now, do I?"  
  
"And Angelus?" She clenched her jaw to kill the fear that rose in her throat. This is *so* my life. To go from being in heaven straight to reliving the worst year of my life… but this can't be right. Think! "If all this is true and he really is trying to kill you, he must be close by."  
  
"He's around here somewhere. Unless he and Drusilla decided to go back to the lair and have a bit of a tumble after dinner." Spike scowled, grinding his teeth. "That's always a possibility, these days." Leering at Buffy, he added, "Shouldn't you be staking me about now?"  
  
She looked at him. His body was thin, sickly thin, and curved against the back of the wheelchair in a slouch that told her he'd been in the chair for some time. A curl, damp from the rain, fell over his forehead. If she was in the past, then this wasn't her Spike. This Spike wanted to kill her, not make love to her. This Spike was a true monster, one who hadn't earned the small bits of redemption her Spike had gained by helping her to protect Dawn. All the same, she was grateful that he'd been the one to find her. Buffy could think of a dozen people who'd give her more comfort but, in this situation, Spike was just who she needed.  
  
He watched her with sharp eyes, waiting. She met his gaze steadily, then trailed her eyes down to study his lifeless legs. When she didn't say anything, he rolled a step closer to her. "Well?" An edge sharpened the word, making it sound almost eager.  
  
She raised a single eyebrow, appraising him. Spike wants me to kill him. The only time I've known him to be that depressed was when he was first chipped. Incapacitated. Just like he is now… God, could this really be true? What's more difficult to believe in, resurrection or time travel? Reaching down, she picked up her stick and shoved it under the waistband of her pants. I've gotta figure out what's going on. If I'm alive again, well… than anything's possible. "Don't be stupid," she said, shrugging off his gaze and scanning the shadows for signs of movement. "I don't kill helpless creatures. Not even you. As I'll tell you again in a few years."  
  
Spike jerked as though slapped. "Hey! Let's see you get within arms reach and call me helpless! I won't be in this chair forever, you know."  
  
"Oh, I know. Believe me, I know. Better than you do, apparently. What month is it?" She grabbed the rain-soaked handles of his wheelchair, avoiding the large bag that hung from the back, and pushed him out of the cemetery. The sidewalk was slick with water, but familiar. She was only a few blocks from home.  
  
"Uh… January. What the hell do you think you're doing?" He twisted in his chair, trying to smack her hands off the handles. "Either put a stake in me or leave me be!"  
  
"January. That means if all this is true, you'll have another 4 months of wheeling around while Angelus plays doctor with Drusilla."  
  
Spike slumped back into his chair. "How do you know that? You're a bleeding psychic now? Just dial 1-900-PsychoSlayer?"  
  
Ignoring him, she quickened her pace, turning the corner onto Revello Drive. "I need information. I can't ask my friends for help because, apparently, I'm three years in the past. I've seen enough science fiction movies to know that if anyone finds out I'm here, it could screw up the timeline. Anyone who matters, that is."  
  
"You did hit your head. Or is it drugs? Just how stoned does a person have to be to think they're a time traveler?"  
  
"Just… shut up." From down the block, she could see the glow of lights shining through the windows of her house. Her mother was home, maybe. Mommy Her mind danced with a crazy mixture of hope and fear. To see her mother again… in real life, not in heaven. To have back all she'd lost… Swallowing hard, Buffy tore her attention back to the facts. "You don't have anything better to do, and trust me, you're much less evil than you think you are. And I hardly think that you not being around will screw up my timeline. So, you are going to help me."  
  
Glaring, Spike said, "Or what?"  
  
She paused on the sidewalk in front of her house. "Well you could go back to Angelus. Watch him steal your girlfriend. Let him stake you. Or, you could see how easy humans are to kill when you can't use your legs. Starvation doesn't sound like much fun to me. A better plan might be to help me. I need to figure out what to do. You have information that might be useful, since I'll need to avoid Angel… umm… Angelus. And I'll need someone to keep people from discovering me. In return… well, you need to eat."  
  
Letting loose a bitter chuckle, Spike shook his head. "What is this? I scratch your back, you scratch my… mine?" His words dripped with innuendo.  
  
"There will be no scratching of any kind! You do what you can to help me and I'll feed you. That's it, that's the whole deal. If you even hint at more…" With a blink, she remembered suddenly a past he hadn't yet lived through.  
  
'What's wrong,' he had asked, looking down at her. She'd been sitting on the steps of her back porch, crying with fear for her mother. Though she had noticed he held a shotgun in his hands, she couldn't bring herself to fight him, especially when his eyes radiated concern and worry. 'I don't want to talk about it,' she'd said, misery hanging from each word. Though she'd sensed his internal struggle, she had done nothing to make it easier for him. 'Is there anything I can do?' he'd asked, wanting to act. Wanting to help her. She'd been unable to answer, but the pressure of his hand when it touched her back in a comforting pat reached her deep inside.  
  
Looking down at the wheelchair, she lectured herself silently. Stop thinking about that. He was chipped then. This… this is a different creature. I can't expect him to be happy about helping me. Not yet. "That's the deal," she repeated in a firm voice. "Take it or leave it. Leave it and you'll die. Doesn't seem like much of a choice to me."  
  
He cocked his head to the side, confused by the conflicting emotions that he'd watched pass over her face. "For the record, I'm not happy to be helping you, Slayer. This is unnatural, you realize that? Like birds and cats taking tea together or something. But a man does need to eat."  
  
"You don't see me jumping with joy either," she said, looking up at her house. "But we're both out of options." She saw a light on in the living room window. Leaving Spike on the sidewalk, she walked up the path and onto the porch. She looked inside, then, gasping, ducked back into the shadows. Oh God, that was…  
  
"Idiot," she whispered to herself as she rushed back towards Spike. Grabbing the handles of the wheelchair, she said, "I should've known."  
  
"What? You look as pale as I am. And I can smell your pulse racing." He leaned his head back towards her and baited her with a malicious smile. "Like melted chocolate. Delicious."  
  
"Change of plan," she said, pushing him hurriedly down the street. She tried to ignore the sick feeling of fear that unwound inside of her stomach. "We need a place to stay. Somewhere no one will find us."  
  
"There's a place," Spike said in a bland, indifferent tone. "It's not far. I'd planned on hiding out there anyways. You could come, I suppose." He tipped his head farther back to meet her eyes, but she avoided him. "But I thought you wanted to go home."  
  
"It seems that I'm already there," she said, fighting down nausea. She glanced back over her shoulder as if she could still see inside the window, still see herself lying asleep on the couch.  
  
  
  
  
  
**********  
  
Sunnydale  
  
2001  
  
**********  
  
  
  
"Osiris! Let her cross over!"  
  
Willow knelt over Buffy's grave, suspended in red light. Her eyes glowed black and sightless, but she could still hear. Forcing herself to focus on her magic, she trusted that Tara, Xander, and Anya would protect her from whatever was causing the motorcycle noises and the screams.  
  
"Release her!" Willow shouted, still deeply into the spell. She ignored the voice of the Buffybot. It stood behind her, shouting over the din of the engines. If this worked, they wouldn't need the Bot. Buffy could come home.  
  
"Osiris!" she screamed, commanding the god to listen. "Let her go!"  
  
As if from far away, she heard the sound of something breaking. A burning pain rose inside her chest, tearing at her lungs. "No!" The red light dissipated, dropping Willow to the ground. "No," she panted, half- conscious. She used the last of her strength to drag herself towards the broken bits of the magical urn.  
  
Clutching the pieces of ceramic to her chest, she saw Xander and Anya rushing towards her, hand in hand. She watched them dodge a demon on a motorcycle. You're too late she thought as they approached. The urn… we failed Buffy. I failed. Then, suddenly, they both vanished. Nothing remained where they had once been standing.  
  
"Tara!" Willow said, shouting above the racket of the motorcycle engines. "Did you… did you just see that? Xander… Anya… they disappeared!"  
  
Tara peeked out from her hiding place behind a bush. She ran over to Willow and dragged her to safety. "What are you talking about, Will? Are you okay? Those demons just came out of nowhere! So much for an evening walk in the woods, huh?"  
  
"What?" Willow laid her head in Tara's lap, dizzy and nauseated. "A walk? No… the spell… something went wrong. Xander…"  
  
"Honey, shh," Tara said, stroking Willow's hair soothingly. "Those demons must've really freaked you out. You're all confused. Xander's been dead for years, remember? I've never even met him."  
  
Willow's eyes rolled back in her head. She fell away from Tara and laid on her back in the dirt. With the last of her consciousness, she thought, What happened? What did I do wrong? 


	2. The Keeper of Truth Chapter 2

The Keeper of Truth  
  
Fanfic 2  
  
Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.  
  
Rating: R for now. Maybe more later.  
  
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, email me..  
  
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com  
  
Author's Note: Due to the fact that for some reason, I can't post italics on ff.net, thoughts are put into brackets like these.  
  
Thanks to Wendy and to Shannon. (  
  
  
  
  
  
************  
  
  
  
Buffy pushed Spike through the familiar cemetery. Wet grass clung to the wheels of the chair in clumps, making it bounce. She ignored the bumps that jiggled the vampire and strode down the row as quickly as she could. Tombstones, backlit by moonlight, cast shadows on the dark grass, lining the path towards their destination. "You might've just said we were coming here. I didn't need directions."  
  
"You've been to this crypt before?" Spike folded his hands over his chest, trying not to wince. The pain in his back screamed with each bounce, but he'd rather go sunbathing than tell the Slayer to be gentle. "No getting around you, is there, Slayer? I'd have found a better hide-out if I'd known you knew about this place."  
  
Biting off a wry grin, she shoved open the crypt door and pushed Spike inside. She shut the door firmly behind them and coughed as clouds of dust filled the air. The upper level looked remarkably the same as it had the last time she'd been there, three years in the future. The same old refrigerator hummed in the corner. The dusty armchair squatted in front of a television which, while it wasn't the same as the one Spike would own in the future, bore familiar cracks and dings. "I didn't know about it when you stayed here. Um… now, that is. I don't know about it yet. It'll be a few more years before you'll chain me up in the basement."  
  
"I'm going to do that?" Spike wheeled his chair further into the crypt, towards the sarcophagus. "That's odd."  
  
"Why odd? You're a vampire. Odd for you would be…" Falling in love with the Slayer. Risking your life for a teenage girl. Undergoing torture instead of giving into your nature. She carefully schooled her features into a blank mask, revealing nothing of her thoughts. "Puppies would be odd for you. Flowers. Poetry."  
  
"No, chaining you up isn't something I'd do, not under normal circumstances at least. I don't usually play with my food before supper. That's more Drusilla's gig." He transferred himself from the wheelchair to the sarcophagus in one, fluid movement. With a look at Buffy that dared her to comment, he clicked his tongue and patted his lap. "As for the rest…" He looked expectantly towards to hole that lead to the basement.  
  
From the below the floor, Buffy heard a scrambling noise. "Not a puppy," she said flatly. "No way William the Bloody's keeping a puppy down there. You're not the type… and I'll never believe that they'd give a service dog to a member of the undead, broken back or not."  
  
A small smile twisted Spike's lips as he watched a ginger colored tabby poke its head out of the hole, and run across the crypt towards him. The cat jumped into his lap and, purring, rubbed its nose against the bottom of Spike's chin. "Like I'd ever keep something as shameful as a dog. Way too docile and obedient for my tastes, not to mention snackable. Now, Platelet here… he's my kind of beast. Goes where he wants, eats who he wants…"  
  
All the color drained from Buffy's face. Platelet "What did you call him?"  
  
"What, you thought I'd call him Fluffy? Like humans don't name their pets after foods all the time."  
  
A violent tremble ran through Buffy's body. Dawn. How could it have taken me so long to think about her? To worry about her? She backed away from Spike, her eyes wide and inwardly focused. The memory of her sister's face was all she could see. The way she looked at me before I jumped from the tower… before I died… Sinking to the ground, she leaned her back against the door and drew her knees up against her chest. And now… now she's all alone. No mom, no sister…  
  
"Prissy little thing, aren't you? Never thought something so tiny as a cat's name would get to you."  
  
She rested her head back against the hard wood and closed her eyes, ignoring Spike's taunting words. She had to think, had to figure out what to do next, but it seemed that all she could do was feel. And what is it I'm feeling so much of? Not too unhappy about being gone from the days of Glory, that's for sure. Guilt though, lots of guilt here, because shouldn't I want to get back there? Isn't that the thing to do? But… it was hard there. And then, then there was heaven, with the serenity and the peace and the whole not-a-Slayer deal. It's not like I can just go die again, though. Just run out and get myself killed. I mean, I've been brought back for a reason. This couldn't have all been a mistake. Could it have been? She dropped her head down onto her knees. Of course it could have been. Hello, Buffy! This is your life! When has anything ever gone as planned?  
  
"Earth to Slayer. I'm getting hungry here. Make with the blood already, won't you? Or are you planning on pansying out on our deal?" Spike's words seemed to have a will of their own. He'd intended them to be harsh, wanting to wake the Slayer up out of whatever dreamland she'd fallen into. Instead, they came out with a soft, almost gentle, tone. Groaning, he pushed the cat off onto the floor. "Slayer," he said, snapping his fingers. "Come on out of it, pet. Whatever's wrong, it can't be as bad as all that. S'not like the world's ending, now. Is it?"  
  
"I'm here because I stopped the world from ending," Buffy murmured, her face buried in her hands. "Didn't take much. Just my life. Not like it was much of a life by that point anyways."  
  
Spike fell quiet for a moment. He cocked his head to the side, thinking. "No joke then? You really are from the future?"  
  
Without raising her head, Buffy nodded. "Would I be in here with you if I wasn't?"  
  
"Don't suppose so. And you were dead?"  
  
Her hands smelled like grass and sweat. They were stained with mud and keeping them on her face would probably make her break out into acne. She didn't care. "I was in heaven," she said, her voice barely audible. "It was… heaven. Perfect."  
  
The fingers of Spike's right hand twitched. He glared down at them, telling them not to disobey. No way was he reaching out towards her. The chit was badly in need of comfort, but he had none to offer. All he had was what she'd seen of him: a crypt, a cat, and whatever it was she thought she needed from him. Whatever she wanted from him in exchange for feeding him. Certainly not comfort. But still, there was something there… something tingling inside of him that made him ask, "Want me to call the cat something else?" He shot his eyes away from her the moment the words passed over his lips, embarrassed.  
  
She looked up at him, surprised. "No. It's… sort of sweet, really. You… the future you, that is, called my little sister that. Platelet. She… well, she loved it."  
  
"Sister?" He quirked an eyebrow. "Since when do you have a sister? I thought I'd found all your weaknesses. And why would I give her a pet name?"  
  
"Dawn… well, it's complicated. Let's just leave it at, she doesn't show up for a few years. And when she does, she's fifteen years old. She kinda got a crush on you. Fifteen year olds are like that."  
  
Spike's jaw dropped. "The Slayer's little sis, with a crush on an evil vampire! At least Angel had a soul. Not that it turned out so well with the two of you or anything, but still…" His eyes widened. "Don't tell me that in this future of yours, I've got a soul. If I've turned into the same sort of wanker Angelus did…"  
  
Despite herself, Buffy laughed, a deep chuckle that shook the door behind her slightly. "That last thing I would accuse you of, Spike, would be having a soul. In *any* future. But, there were a few improvements made to your personality. You…well, you lost your bite."  
  
"Come again?"  
  
Buffy rose to her feet. She walked over to him, taking her time. No matter how upset I am, this is one of those moments a girl just *has* to enjoy. "How did you put it? Oh, yes. And I quote, 'Spikey had a little trip to the vet, and now he doesn't chase the other puppies'. Or something to that effect, anyways." She hoisted herself up on the end of the sarcophagus and gave him a smile. "I never paid taxes, really, but if I had, I'd be saying something about how glad I was that the government finally put the money to a good use when they stuck that chip in your head."  
  
"Chip. This is the thing that'll take away my… my bite?" He looked down at his lap as he spoke, making his last word sound an awful lot like 'manhood'. "I don't believe this. It… this has to be your fault, somehow. All your fault! How… how does it happen?"  
  
"Couldn't really tell you. One minute, we're fighting to the death- a fight which I won, of course. Then, a few weeks later, you're chained up in Giles' bathtub, and we're talking about how…" she paused, suppressing a giggle, "how flaccid you'd become."  
  
"Glad it gave you such a laugh," he growled, sending her a black glare. "I suppose you were all sitting around, poking fun at the poor vampire who couldn't." His words dripped with anger, but there was something else hidden in the line of his jaw. A tremble. Fear?  
  
Careful not to show any trace of empathy in her expression, Buffy said, "For a while. I mean, you had spent years trying to kill us all. You were way deserving of what we dished out. But then… you really came around."  
  
"Got my bite back, then?"  
  
"No. But you were tough."  
  
Looking at her from the corner of his eyes, Spike bit down hard on his lip. "Tough? How tough could I be, with no bite?"  
  
"Tough enough to survive a torture session with a hell god," Buffy said, slipping him the tiniest of smiles. "Not to mention battling it out with a few dozen of her minions, and getting tossed off an enormous tower with a knife in your back. You… you did well for yourself, chip or no chip."  
  
Visibly relaxing, Spike looked at Buffy. "Thanks." Shaking his head in an attempt to throw off the emotions of the moment, he coughed loudly. "How 'bout that blood now?"  
  
Buffy rolled up her sleeve. She considered the veins of her wrist carefully, chiding herself for being nervous. You'd think a girl who wants to go back to heaven wouldn't be nervous about this, but no… "You take too much and I'll knock your head off, helpless creature or not." With a sigh, she held her wrist out to him.  
  
"Would I do that?" he asked, taking her hand in his. As casual as his words sounded, his eyes held hers in a questioning stare. Would he? Would the Spike she'd known do such a thing? Chipped Spike? The Spike who is in love with me?  
  
"Yes, of course," she said, the lie coming out in a rush.  
  
Comforted, he smirked and threw on his game face. He brought her wrist to his mouth and bit her without mercy.  
  
She gasped at the pain, then wondered at herself for being surprised. Why wouldn't this hurt? Fangs plus blood drinking equals… ouch. Forcing herself to keep her seat beside him, she closed her eyes, her free hand fisting open and closed. She threw her head back and took deep breaths. Her throat convulsed slightly as tiny moans worked their way up. Her lips pressed together in a tight attempt to silence herself. Hope he's not very hungry. I can't take much more of this.  
  
He drank hard at first, his mouth barely moving on her skin. She could feel each pull from her vein deeply, as though a long thread had been strung from her wrist to the core of her body. The sensation was rhythmic, and within the rhythm came an ease from the pain. Then, gradually, the nature of his bite began to change. The rhythm slowed. Whereas before Buffy could feel only a general pressure from his mouth, she now knew exactly where his lips were on her skin. They brushed the sensitive hollow of her inner wrist, light and wet. She did not open her eyes. His lips moved across the wound he'd made, and then it was his tongue she felt, lapping at her cut with long, leisurely movements.  
  
Coming back to her senses, she jerked her arm away from his hands. From his mouth. She struggled to slow her breathing. Meeting his eyes with a glare, she held her bleeding wrist tightly against her abdomen.  
  
"Would I do that?" Spike repeated in a low voice, meeting her eyes. He licked his lower lip clean, ingesting the last traces of her blood.  
  
Unable to look away, she could only whisper, "Yes."  
  
  
  
**********  
  
Sunnydale  
  
2001  
  
**********  
  
"Umm, Will? You read that one already," Tara said, entering the living room of the Summer's house, a steaming mug of tea in one hand. She looked over the stacks of books and tried to catch Willow's eyes. "Stop, honey. Have some tea. You've been at this all night."  
  
"You don't understand," Willow muttered, flipping through the pages of the large text with frantic fingers. "But then, you wouldn't, would you? I've screwed this up so completely that there's no way you could even know just how badly I've…"  
  
Moving around the table, Tara placed her fingertips over Willow's lips, silencing her. She wrapped Willow's hand around the mug. "You're exhausted. If you won't go to bed, at least rest a minute. Drink this." She took the book from in front of Willow and set it firmly to the side. "Please, sweetie."  
  
Taking the tea, Willow sighed. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. "You don't understand," she repeated in a whisper. "Whatever I did, it changed everything. And there's no one to ask for help. You're the only person who's still here, and everything you think is true… everything you remember… it's all wrong. Because of me."  
  
Tara knelt beside Willow. She stroked her lover's hair with gentle, soothing motions. "I wish you would have let me take you to the hospital. Whatever happened to you tonight… whatever's upset you… we should get help."  
  
"If Giles was here, maybe, but no… he's dead. No one can help, no one else is unaffected by whatever I did to the spell! There is no help. Not for what's happened. You don't even know…" Willow opened her eyes and grabbed Tara's hands. "Tell me."  
  
"We're not going through this again," Tara said. "It can't be good for you. Last time, you got so upset."  
  
"Tara," Willow said, leaning towards her. She squeezed Tara's hands tightly and refused to let her pull away. "I need to hear it again. Tell me."  
  
Her eyes full of hurt shock, Tara nodded. "W-when we f-first met, you t-told me about what happened. How… how Buffy and Xander went to rescue Giles from Angelus and Drusilla. Angelus was trying to awaken… umm… some demon, one that would suck the world into hell." She paused, looking up at Willow. "You told me that you waited at the hospital for them to come back, but they… they never came. The only one who survived that night was Buffy. And then…"  
  
"Then?" Willow's voice, hard as ice, made Tara flinch. "Tell me again, Tara. I need you to say it."  
  
"Willow, Buffy k-killed herself. Two years ago… I already told you this. You and I, we found her body." Her eyes filled with tears and she looked away. "Don't make me say it again."  
  
Dropping Tara's hands, Willow pulled her chair closer to the table. She reached for the text Tara had taken from her. "It's not real. None of it. *I* did this, somehow. And I'm going to undo it." Opening the book, she didn't spare Tara a glance. "I just have to figure out what it was I did."  
  
Tara rose to her feet and stood over Willow for a minute, watching the fervency with which she skimmed the pages. Retreating slowly from the room, she entered the kitchen and quietly picked up the telephone. With shaking fingers, she started to dial the number for the hospital, then paused. "Oh, God," she whispered, looking at her fingers. At a casual glance, they appeared flesh colored, but when she focused on them, she could see the blue tint they bore beneath the skin. The tint that said her energy was fragmented, as it only became when she was under the effects of a powerful spell.  
  
"Willow?" Tara said, her voice subdued with fear. She walked back into the dining room and picked up one of the texts from the stack on the table. "You… ummm.. you haven't look in this one yet, have you?"  
  
With a small smile, Willow shook her head. "Not that one. Try this," she said, sliding a manual across the table. "Look under Osiris, for anything about a resurrection spell. Or, about flubbing a resurrection spell. And if it involves the whole of reality shifting? Well, that's our chapter."  
  
Tara nodded, opening the book. "Will?" she asked, trying not to look too hard at the blueness underneath her skin. "It doesn't make sense. Why would a botched resurrection spell change reality so drastically? I can't think of any precedent for this sort of thing."  
  
Raising an eyebrow, Willow kept reading as she spoke. "Can you think of any precedence for a major spell being interrupted by demons on motorcycles? Me neither. Keep reading. Whatever we did, it's in here somewhere." Turning the page, she grimaced. "I hope." 


	3. The Keeper of Truth Chapter 3

The Keeper of Truth  
  
Chapter 3  
  
Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.  
  
Rating: R for now. Maybe more later.  
  
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, email me..  
  
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com  
  
Author's Note: Due to the fact that for some reason, I can't post italics on ff.net, thoughts are put into brackets like these.  
  
Thanks go, as always, to my betas, Wendy and Shannon.  
  
  
  
  
  
*********  
  
Sunnydale  
  
2001  
  
*********  
  
  
  
  
  
"Where's that one book… the one with the skeleton key on the cover?" Willow asked, going through the piles of books stacked in rows on the Summers' dining room table. "You know? That one?"  
  
"I checked it already. There's nothing there. We're not getting anywhere," Tara said, closing her book with a sigh. They'd been researching nonstop for more than a day, and still hadn't found the answer. Exhaustion was a small word for what she was feeling- semiconscious might've been closer. Willow looked even more tired; all of Tara's attempts at getting her lover to rest had failed. Knowing the mess their world had become made sleep an impossibility. "Let's go through the spell again, step by step. There must be something we've overlooked."  
  
Dropping into the chair next to Tara's, Willow sent an evil look at the book sitting on the table in front of her. "There's nothing left to go over. I've told you everything. There was the preparation, with the fawn and all, but I did fine with that. And the words, the actual words of the spell… they were good, too. The circle was strong, I was dealing with the tests, the visualization went just fine… everything was running smoothly 'till the urn broke. It had to be the urn."  
  
"N-no. I don't think so." Tara picked up Willow's hands and held them close to her heart. "Yeah, it wasn't a great thing, when it broke. But after reading all these books, I think the urn was maybe a smaller deal than you thought when you were preparing the spell. It doesn't bring back the dead. It's more like… more like the glue that makes the spell work. You did the preparation, the incant, and then the visualization… where were you with the visualizing?"  
  
Screwing up her face, Willow shook her head. "I can't remember, exactly. Yeah, that's bad, I know. I should be able to. But it was a lot, you know? W-with the snake and the pain and all… through all that, I had to picture Buffy's birth, her first birthday, and every year after that. I had to see her grow up."  
  
"I still don't get that part. Why did you have to do that?"  
  
"It was suppose to be like a guide for Osiris, so that he'd know who I was talking about and… and, I guess, *when* in her life to bring her back to. Gods can take our whole lives and open them, like a book, to any page that they want. If Osiris was in a bad mood, he could've returned Buffy when she was, like, eighty!" Willow shrugged with a tired smile. "I dunno. Sound hokey. I didn't think it mattered all that much, just another test or something. I liked it better than the snake."  
  
Tara brought Willow's hand to her lips. Her eyes took on a distracted glaze. Dropping an absentminded kiss on Willow's knuckles, she said, "That was where the urn came it. It acted like glue, to make whatever year you saw Buffy in… to make it stick. You were supposed to picture Buffy being alive after she jumped off the tower, and then smash the urn. Right?"  
  
"That's how it was supposed to go." Willow took her hand back and ran her fingertip down the spine of the book. "But those motorcycle demons… well, they took care of the whole smashing thing."  
  
"If it'd gone right, then the urn would have 'stuck' Buffy back to life at the same time as her death, without any overlap." Tara shot upright in her seat, realization darkening her eyes. "What if the spell did work? What if Buffy is alive, somewhere? Or, I mean, some*when*?"  
  
Willow's jaw dropped. "Somewhen? When?" She paled, and grabbed Tara's arm with both hands. "Oh no… Oh God. This is… this is bad. If you're right… if Buffy is alive, in another year of her life… It makes sense. Her being there, it could've changed the past enough to cause such a different future."  
  
"When, Will? What were you think about when the urn broke?"  
  
Shuddering, Willow tightened her hands on Tara's arm. She closed her eyes. "That last thing I remember was thinking of 1998. The year Angel turned into Angelus."  
  
  
  
  
  
*********  
  
Sunnydale  
  
1998  
  
*********  
  
  
  
  
  
The dead girl's white shoes, colored brown with mud, hung over the end of the bed. She'd put up a chase, a good chase, Angelus thought, drinking deeply from her neck. Good enough to have sparked Drusilla's interest for all of two seconds. He'd chosen her as their evening meal specifically to give Dru a game, a distraction from her sulky mood, but it hadn't lasted longer than it'd taken for the girl to scream and turn tail. Dru had simply shrugged and returned to the crypt, to lie in bed and babble nonsense to herself. She'd ignored Angelus when he came in with the girl's body slung over his shoulder. He'd dumped the body on the bed and arranged her as if she was asleep, to try and tempt Drusilla to eat. She refused to even look at him, so he'd eaten without her.  
  
The girl's hair, brown and pretty against the backdrop of red blankets, tickled his nose. He withdrew his fangs from her neck with a groan. Looking over the body to where Drusilla rested against the pillows, he said, "She's tasty. Eat, Dru."  
  
Dru stared at the ceiling with dreamy eyes, twirling a strand of her hair around one index finger in a spiral. "Tasty is as tasty does," she murmured, "and that girl was naughty, naughty, naughty."  
  
"Drusilla, you're trying my patience," Angelus said, his jaw tightening with annoyance. He shoved the girl's body to the floor with a careless sweep of his arm and moved up to seize Dru's shoulders. "You're a wreck. You've been moping around ever since Spike left. I'm sick of playing babysitter. Spike's gone! He's never coming back. Get over it, would you?"  
  
Covering her eyes with the heels of her hands, Dru let out a low, keening moan. She rolled away from Angelus. "Won't stop. Bad daddy, who said 'give up' on his children."  
  
Angelus rolled his eyes with barely stifled aggravation. "I didn't give up. We looked for Spike, remember? Someone slayed all our minions."  
  
"Not my Spike, though. He didn't do that. Broken boy can't fight." Turning back towards him, she danced her fingers over his chest. Her nails pinched him, teasing the hairs that peppered below the notch of his collarbone. "Can't fight… can't hunt… can only starve and cry all alone and miss his princess…"  
  
"But someone fought, someone helped him. The wheelchair tracks in the grass led out the cemetery gates, and there were footprints walking beside them. Footprints, Dru. Spike's fine, wherever he is. He's found someone to help him. Can't you leave it at that?"  
  
"Spike found a friend." She grinned suddenly and, closing her eyes, nuzzled her face into his shoulder like a cat. "I saw them, you know. Behind my eyes, I did. Dancing together. With their fists out and flying, they were."  
  
"None of that matters unless you saw where he's hiding," Angelus said in a distracted tone. He stared into the dark shadows of the room, his mouth twitching slightly as he thought. Spike had never been more than a bother to him and, more often than not, Angelus regretted giving Dru permission to turn the boy. Rash as he was, he'd lead them into near-misses time after time. Crippled, he was little more than a burden, a mouth to feed, a body to wash… though he did have his uses. Only after spending the past few days as Drusilla's sole caretaker had Angelus realized how valuable Spike actually was. Anyone had worth who could keep Dru from grating on his nerves as she had since Spike had left. But still, it was better for them all that Spike had gone. One less annoyance. "Did you see where he's at, Dru?"  
  
"Oh yes. My Spike's with the dead. He's in their home, with their bare, beautiful bones."  
  
"In a crypt. Great. Dru, do you have any idea how many crypts there are in Sunnydale? Just forget about him." Angelus squeezed her neck, massaging her with beguiling force. "You don't need anything more than what you have here. And you definitely don't need roller boy. You have me now. Someone who won't hold you back. He never did anything else, you know. All that crap about love… so human, so weak."  
  
"He's with the dead," she sighed, nipping at his neck. Her breath, inexplicably hot, stung his skin. "Two corpses in a crypt. With the dead, and with your soul."  
  
Curiosity sparked in his eyes. "Not my soul. It went… wherever souls go when Slayers are foolish enough to screw them out of you."  
  
"Your soul," she repeated. She ran her tongue over his Adam's apple, then pulled him towards the edge of the bed. "Or your death, either one. Like the flip of a coin. Your soul or your death… your death or your soul… but only your soul, if we go right now to find them."  
  
"Could you be any more crazy?" He pushed her off of him, scowling. "I don't want to hear that word from you again. 'Soul'. I mean it, Dru. There's a stake with your name on it in the nightstand if you keep this up. I've had it up to here with your blathering."  
  
Rising to her knees, she tugged at his shirt. "Only your soul if we go now," she said again, her voice rising with urgency.  
  
Shaking his head, Angelus rose from the bed. He stretched his arms over his head. With a quick change of heart, he decided that recovering Spike, if he was indeed still alive, would be more than worth the effort. "Well then, Dru. I guess this works out fine. Let's go find our boy, shall we? He can baby-sit you for a while- I'm done with it."  
  
.   
  
*******  
  
  
  
  
  
Buffy inhaled a sharp breath as she traced the knife over the mostly- healed cut on her wrist, reopening it. Blood welled up immediately, flowing in heavy ribbons to fill the mug she held in her good hand. "Breakfast," she called over her shoulder to Spike in a gruff monotone.  
  
He smirked without looking away from the television. Rubbing a hand over his belly, he said, "Bring it over, would you pet? It's too early in the night to break out my wheels."  
  
"Lazy and a couch potato. Gee, Spike, what a fascinating life you lead." Wincing, she wrapped a length of cloth around her wrist as a makeshift bandage. She walked over and switched off the television set with a snap. Holding the mug of blood out to him, she shook her head as he reached for it. "Ah-ah. First things first, and the first thing is figuring out a plan. I can't just stay in this crypt for the rest of my life, you know. Now that I have a life. But if I leave, someone could see me and blow the future all to pot."  
  
"It's only been one night. Dramatic, aren't you? No one's talking about the rest of your life. Besides, s'not so bad in here, pet. There's plenty of food in the fridge, and decent shows on the telly." He gestured towards the black screen. "Plus, I'm getting sort of used to having my own personal tap of fresh Slayer blood. Hand it over, would you? I won't welsh on our deal. You don't have to starve me to be sure of that."  
  
With the barest of blinks, she passed him the mug and watched as he drank. "You're not all…" she waved a hand over her forehead, baring her teeth. "I thought that's what happened when you drank blood."  
  
"What, you never saw me eat like this in that future of yours?"  
  
"Well, yeah, but you had a chip then. You're a totally different… un- person, now." She screwed up her face, considering. "Or, then. Or… you get what I mean."  
  
"This chip really did a number on me, eh?"  
  
"We've been through this." Her face burned as she remembered the feel of his lips on her skin. She touched the cloth that bound her wrist. I'm *so* not going there again. Okay, so vampire bites aren't the worst things ever. And Spike's bite was… again, *not* going there! First of all… eww. Biting and blood and… well, been there, got the scars, not going back. Second… it's Spike. And not chipped, I'm-in-love-with-you Spike, but old, evil Spike. Bad brain. Very bad. He's a monster.  
  
A whisper in the back of her mind brought back a memory so poignant, she could only close her eyes. Spike, invited back into my house, looking awed and touched and… loving. "I know that I'm a monster, but you treat me like a man. And that's…" "That's what?" she whispered aloud.  
  
"That's what… what?" Spike asked, frowning at her. He held the empty mug out for her to take. "You all right?"  
  
That was a different Spike. A different life. She snatched the mug away from him. "Nothing. Uhm, yeah, fine. I'm fine. Look, we need a plan. This is bad, but it's been worse."  
  
"Worse? You're an undead Slayer trapped in the past. How can it get worse than that?"  
  
"Much worse. Like, apocalypse-times-six worse than this." Turning the mug between her damp palms, she shrugged. "But I always had Giles before. And the gang. Maybe that makes this the worst-ever experience. I could handle this fine, if I could go to them. But I can't. I can't mess with their lives like that. Who knows what damage my being here, now, could cause them?"  
  
He raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you should be a bit more worried about how all this will mess up your own life."  
  
"I was dead. There's not a whole lot to mess up. I'm more worried about shifting my friend's timelines then I am my own. They're still alive, after all." She leaned against the television, thinking of Dawn. Where was she at that moment? What form had the Key been in before it'd been turned into her sister? "For the most part, that is."  
  
"Well, if you're not worried for yourself, you might spare a bit of worry for me. What about my future? Did you think of that? You being here, keeping me alive…" He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's not suppose to happen like this."  
  
She rolled her eyes, looking down into the mug at the residue of blood that stained the bottom. "Am I supposed to apologize for keeping you alive? For feeding you with my own body? Some gratitude that is."  
  
He jerked forward suddenly, grabbing her arm. The mug fell to the floor, but she didn't care. His burning eyes held her still. "What about my future, Buffy?" he asked in a chilled voice, spacing the words evenly.  
  
She broke away from both his hands and his gaze, stumbling backwards to escape him. Idiot! she berated herself. He's paralyzed, not helpless. And he's also right. I should've thought… it didn't even occur to me to think that I might mess things up for him. But… hey! What am I doing, worrying about making his future miserable? His future *is* miserable!.  
  
"Your future…" A flash of amusement crossed her face. "You know, you might want to thank me for changing that. Really, I did you a favor. Right now, you've an evil freak, too broken to even take care of yourself. But hey, guess what? In three years, that description will sound like a major positive. Believe me, you're better off how you are now. At least you still have your self-respect. In a few years, you'll be a lovesick, pathetic excuse for a vampire… trailing on my coattails, telling me you…" She stopped herself, too late. Crap. She wasn't going to tell him about the whole 'In Love With The Slayer' thing.  
  
He looked at her, pale and shaken. "I don't believe you. First off, if I was *that* pathetic, I sure as bloody hell wouldn't have stuck around Sunnyhell. Angelus and Drusilla would have a grand old time of watching me turn into a poofter- there's no way I'd let them see me like that."  
  
"You did leave, for a while, you and Drusilla. Right after I…" she bolstered herself, giving him an angry shake of her head. "Right after *we* took out Angelus."  
  
"We?"  
  
"You came to me with a truce. If I gave you and Dru a 'get out of town free' card, you'd help me take out Angelus. And that's what happened. You helped me, I sent Angel to hell, and you skipped town. But then, you came back. And you got chipped, and needed help, so we made another truce. We kept you alive while the commando guys were looking for you, and you gave us information and stuff."  
  
He looked down, believing her against his will. "But that second part… no way that's the truth. If I really was following you around all starry eyed and mooney, you'd waste no time shoving a stake through my chest." He weighed her with a critical squint. "Or is that what happened? Did you stake me, in this future of yours? That's it, isn't it! I couldn't fight back, being chipped and all, and you dusted me. That's why you're saying I'm better off having my future tampered with- because you know I don't have one!"  
  
"Paranoid much? Would I be sitting here with you if I didn't know that you're not as big of a monster as you claim to be?" She sighed, disgusted with both Spike and herself. He's still *him*. No one but Spike could annoy me this much. He knows just how to get under my skin, and I know... I know him. Giving the foot of his armchair a kick, she said, "Give it up already, Mr. "Big Bad". I know your dirty little secret." She put her hands over her eyes, curving them into circles to represent eyeglasses, and stuck her tongue out at him. "William. The bloody awful poet."  
  
He leaned towards her, his eyes fierce. "How..."  
  
"How did I know? You told me."  
  
"I would *never* have told you anything about that. Never." His words were cold and lashing.  
  
The force of his reply took her by surprise. She dropped her hands to her sides, startled. Hurt turned into white-hot anger, which sent sparks of pain through her body. Oh God, she thought, pressing her hands hard against her eyes. All the fear and anger she'd pushing down inside herself since losing the rapture of heaven came spiraling up her throat. She cried out, a long, furious scream that echoed off the walls of the crypt.  
  
"Slayer?" Spike asked, nervously unfolding his hands in a gesture of self- protection.  
  
With another yell, she spun around and kicked the television set off its table. Whirling back to Spike, she punched him squarely in the jaw, so blind in her fury that she barely noticed him fly out of his seat and land on the floor several feet away. She beat her fists against the chair, smashing it, not hearing the sounds of cracking wood and tearing upholstery. Licking her lips, she tasted her own tears. Deep sobs racked her body. Giving in to them, she collapsed onto the wreckage of the armchair and let herself cry.  
  
"I hate this," she choked, watching him crawl towards his wheelchair on his elbows. "Everything about this… being alive again, being alive at all! I hate this." And I hate crying in front of Spike she thought, scrubbing at her face with her bleeding hands. But I can't seem to stop.  
  
Spike dragged his body over to the wheelchair, settling into it heavily. He scrutinized her, forthright and comfortable with his curiosity. "You don't want to be alive? Not too strange, for a Slayer."  
  
"Oh, I know. This is the part where you tell me I have a death wish, right? Cut the wise, old vampire act, will you? I hate your kind. Every one of you." She rose to her knees, giving way to her anger. Vent. Venting is good. "Do you know what's going to happen in just a few weeks? The me who was sleeping on my mom's couch last night is going to kill her first lover. I'm going to slam a sword through him and push him into hell. And why? It's a trade- Angel or the world. And I chose Angel. She'll choose Angel. She has to, or the world will be sucked into hell. If they see that I'm here, who knows what will happen?"  
  
"It's not Angelus the wanker you're crying for, pet. You're pissed as can be, but not at him. That was years ago for you."  
  
"I know that!" She bit back a sob. "Don't you get it? It's just another… another thing! I thought I was done with all those… things. All those Slayer things. I just wanted to live my life. But I couldn't. There was always something for me to protect, for me to loose… and always, always!, for the greater good. Which I was never a part of, you know? No one ever said, 'here Buffy, let me make your life easier because you're part of something greater'. I gave up my life, and then poof! Here I am, back in the worst year of my life, and why? Some mistake, I guess. Some kind of cosmic joke. Somewhere, someone is saying 'let's see how much pain Buffy can take before she goes completely mental'. And this…" she picked up a piece of broken chair and threw it at Spike. "This qualifies! If I'm not totally insane, then… then…" Spent, she slumped her shoulders and covered her face with both hands. "I don't know."  
  
He stared down at her, his face a battleground of conflicting emotions. "I'm…" he started, then broke off to clear his throat. With a nod of annoyance, he wheeled his chair towards the refrigerator. "I'm not sure what you want from me," he muttered over his shoulder as he opened the fridge and removed a bottle of water. Setting it in his lap, he moved back towards Buffy and handed it to her. "Why are you telling me all this?"  
  
She took the water and drank, buying herself time to answer. "I wasn't telling it to *you*," she replied finally, humiliatingly aware of being under his scrutiny. Trying to ease both her embarrassment and his, she said, "I was just… just venting. I guess you won't believe me, but this isn't the first time you've been around for something like this… been around for me. So, really, it's not as weird as you think."  
  
He didn't speak, only watched her with bewilderment.  
  
Tiredness settled into pockets under her eyes. She rubbed at them with the back of one hand. Sharp pain made her realize that she'd not only re-opened the cut on her wrist, but she'd gotten blood all over her face in her outburst. I'm a mess. Outside… inside… I'm a mess.  
  
Without needing to be asked, Spike reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He handed it to her silently and settled back in his wheelchair.  
  
"Now that's weird," she said, wetting the cloth and scrubbing her face with it. Blood darkened the charcoal fabric into blackness. "You, all quiet."  
  
Cocking his head slightly to one side, he drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair, deep in thought. He studied her face with his enigmatic gaze for a long beat. The lingering silence that passed laid heavily in the air between them. Finally he sighed, as if coming to a decision.  
  
"What?" Buffy asked, folding her arms in a wary gesture.  
  
"I'll help you," he said, his words tense and clipped.  
  
"Huh? Yeah, I know. The deal…"  
  
"No, I'm telling you, I'll help you. And not for the blood. If we can get out of this crypt, out of this sodding town, to someplace where no one will recognize you, then I'll find a butcher. You don't have to keep opening your veins up all the time."  
  
Buffy shook her head. "Bad plan. Let's just stick to the deal. I trust you when you need something from me."  
  
"Deal's off. This is…" He stopped, the words feeling funny on his lips. "Wrong. Now, I'm not saying I don't want to kill you. You- Slayer, me- vampire, and all that jazz. But this is not the ending that you should have." Wrinkling his nose, he continued, "Not after a fall from some bloody tower… not after Angelus decides to release a demon to end the world. That poofter's never had any class. You're a damn good Slayer, and I have the broken back to prove it. You deserve a fair fight. A real… dance."  
  
"A dance," she echoed dully, looking away. His words ate into her with the dark logic they held. Despite the fact that she knew this Spike was the one who wanted to kill her, despite the fact that he'd just said as much, she also knew that he was no different from the Spike who'd protected her and the people she loved from death a hundred different times. "A dance."  
  
"Yes, a dance. You don't think we're dancing?"  
  
Feeling her lips quirk up at the edges, Buffy shook her head. "No, I know. That's all we've ever done. I know this part."  
  
"I've told you this before?"  
  
She nodded. "In… oh, about two years or so, I think."  
  
"And you trusted me then?"  
  
"Yes," she said immediately, then caught herself and added a hesitation. "Usually."  
  
He nudged his chair an inch closer to her. "Did a tiny piece of metal in my brain really change me that much?"  
  
Look away, Buffy. Just look away from those eyes. "I…" she snapped her head sharply towards the door. "Listen. Did you hear that?"  
  
"What? I didn't hear…"  
  
"Be quiet," she snapped, standing and hurrying towards the door. Familiar prickles raced up and down her spine. "There's someone… two someones. Two vampire someones."  
  
Spike stiffened. "Hide," he said, pointing towards the opening to the basement. "It's Angelus and Dru." He grabbed the wheels of his chair and sped to face the door.  
  
She dove down into the hole and clung to the ladder, peeking out like a nervous gopher. Be careful, she wanted to say, but bit her lip to keep the words back. The crypt fell still for a beat, then two, until the sound of the door creaking open broke the silence.  
  
The next thing Buffy heard was Spike's voice, full and cheerful and dripping with bravado. "Angelus… Dru… it's about time. I've been waiting for you." 


	4. The Keeper of Truth Chapter 4

The Keeper of Truth  
  
Chapter 4  
  
Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.  
  
Rating: R for now. Maybe more later. Warning- this chapter has graphic violence.  
  
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, email me..  
  
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com  
  
Author's Note: Due to the fact that for some reason, I can't post italics on ff.net, thoughts are put into brackets like these.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
*****  
  
  
  
  
  
Spike faced the door and watched the vampires enter. "Angelus… Dru… it's about time. I've been waiting for you."  
  
"Knew we'd come, did you?" Angelus closed the door behind him with a soft movement. His faced glowed with an ominous calm. "It wasn't my idea to find you, but then, you probably guessed that too."  
  
Dru swept forward. She meandered around the crypt, exploring with faint curiosity, then turned back to examine Spike with her eyes. "Poor boy. Not much of a home for one of us… ugly and dirty and full of secrets."  
  
"Yeah, well, it suits me well enough." Spike crossed his arms over his chest, then realized it looked like a defensive move and uncrossed them. He pretended not to notice how natural it seemed for Drusilla to move back to Angelus and tuck herself against his side. "So, Dru wanted to drop by? That's… nice. You've visited, seen the new digs, now you can push off."  
  
"You know that's not why we're here." Angelus took a step forward. "Where is it?"  
  
Spike's mouth went dry. All he could think of to say was, "What?"  
  
"You heard me, boy. I know you have something that belongs to me. Where is it? And for that matter, what is it?"  
  
Recovering, Spike snorted and put on a smirk. "Someone's told you a big one, Peaches. I don't have anything that belongs to you."  
  
"Dru never lies to me, do you?" He wrapped one, long arm around Drusilla, and curled his hand around her waist. His eyes, predatorial and challenging, never left Spike's. "With me, yes, but never to me."  
  
"And you say I'm the one who's taken what's yours," Spike muttered, pretending not to notice the way Angelus's fingers fondled the curve of Dru's hip. "You've bloody well taken queen and castle away from me. And you come here, why? Because of a vision? We all know how reliable those visions are."  
  
Dru nuzzled Angelus's shoulder with parted lips. "Visions are visions, silly boy. Not lies."  
  
"I know your visions aren't lies, Dru," Spike said, holding onto his calm. "But they're not exactly crystal clear, now are they? Remember, that time in Prague, you thought your visions told you to play with that nurse before you ate her? And what did that get you? The wrong end of an angry mob, if memory serves."  
  
The slow smile that spread across Angelus's face sent the hairs on the back of Spike's neck into wary prickles. He refused the inner urge to wheel his chair a few paces backward, but gave in when Angelus moved his hand up Dru's side to caress her upper ribs, his fingers brushing the undersides of Dru's breasts. Spike wheeled his chair toward the sarcophagus, where he picked up Buffy's abandoned bottle of water and took a long drink before turning back to face his sire.  
  
Cue ominous, horror movie music here Spike thought, absorbing the waves of cruel mischief that radiated from Angelus's expression. Angelus stood in the middle of the crypt, staring at Spike. The smile on his face widened, and he began to chuckle. His wide shoulders shook with laughter, making the items in the pockets of his long, black coat clink. He caressed the pockets with open palms, his eyes never leaving Spike's.  
  
Spike, careful to keep his eyes from darting towards the hole where Buffy hid, allowed himself to smile back. He hoped the smile didn't look as nervous as it felt. "You just gonna stand there laughing at me all night?"  
  
Angelus took a step towards him, the mirth fading from his face. It lingered around his eyes, making them glow. "No, no. I have much bigger plans for our night. It only just now came to me, the idea. You and I and Dru, we're gonna have ourselves a nice time together. Get reacquainted."  
  
"Ummm… yeah, sure." Spike inched his hands behind his back, searching for the stake he usually kept there, but found it missing. Figures. The one time I really need protection, and I come up empty-handed. "Mind telling me what we need togetherness time for? Hate to break it to you, but we're past the bonding stage of this relationship."  
  
"We're past more than that. I thought I'd never have to deal with you again, but then came Dru's vision." Angelus's lips twitched. "She's a handy little tool, isn't she? It's been such a strain, adjusting to being the Master of this town again, but with Dru at my side, comforting me… let's just say, she's great at relieving certain… strains."  
  
Spike gritted his teeth. "That all you came for, then? To tell me that?"  
  
"Of course not. That's only the icing on the cake. You get to see me with your girl, and I… well, I get to reclaim whatever it is you've taken that's mine. My soul, Dru called it, but we all know that must be a metaphor. I'll take what's mine, and until you give it to me, Dru and I'll have a bit of fun with you." He stretched his arms over his head leisurely. "What do you say, Dru? You up for a game?"  
  
Dru gazed at Spike with shuttered eyes. "A bit of one, yes. A bitty bit of one. With the knives, you think?" she asked, patting Angelus's pocket.  
  
"Eventually. We'll start out slow and work our way up," Angelus said, moving Dru's hand away from his pocket. He rolled up his shirtsleeves. "Unless Spike has something he wants to give us?"  
  
Spike gulped reflexively, cursing the heavy deadness of his legs. He clenched his fists, denying to himself that he did so to stop them from shaking. "Whoever it is, I don't know… whatever it is, I don't have it."  
  
"Whoever?"  
  
Spike closed his eyes, then slowly reopened them and gave Angelus a straight look. "I have nothing of yours, you big sodding poofter. Nothing. Get out."  
  
"Oh, I don't think so." Angelus fell into game face and grinned, showing his teeth. "I think we might stay a while, Dru and I." He grabbed Drusilla by the back of her neck, bending her backwards at an awkward angle to expose the pale column of her throat. Leering at Spike, he nipped the skin over Dru's jugular, making her moan. "We'll make ourselves right at home."  
  
  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
  
  
Buffy gripped the sides of the ladder, her hands sliding on the wood, slippery with sweat. She leaned her forehead against the uppermost rung, restraining herself from taking a peek at what was happening in the crypt above. Listen, she told herself, closing her eyes. Angelus could've sensed my presence. He could know I'm here. I have to be prepared, be ready to run. A quick glance to the left told her that the entrance to the tunnels was indeed open in 1998. That's as safe as I'll get, right about now. Or, rather, as safe as the timeline will get. I'll run if Angelus makes a move towards me. But for now… I've gotta stay here. I might not be able to help Spike, but I can't leave him here alone. He never ran away when I needed him, not once. She cast her attention back to the vampires upstairs.  
  
She heard Spike's voice again. His mask of neutrality had slipped, letting some of the bitterness he felt towards Angelus show. "Nice to see the two of you are still snogging it up. Really, that's… nice." Buffy frowned. Cut down the sarcasm, you idiot she thought. Angelus'll make you pay for it. Spike continued, "I don't have whatever it is you're looking for. If you're just sticking around to throw your togetherness in my face, you've done a great job. Really, I'm properly jealous and annoyed. So, you've succeeded in your fun. Off with you now. Find someone else to pester. I'm gotten my quota for the day."  
  
"You never shut up, do you Spike? Always liked the sound of your own voice." Angelus sounded happy, even playful, which sent a chill down Buffy's spine. She listened to the heaviness of his footsteps, moving in a circle around what she assumed was Spike's wheelchair.  
  
"Beats the sound of you shagging my girlfriend," Spike muttered.  
  
Idiot! Buffy's hands tightened on the ladder.  
  
A pause filled the crypt, silent and long. With a gulp, Buffy backed down the ladder a rung. Then a noise ended the pause: the crack of a hand against a face. Spike made no sound. Holding her position, Buffy took a deep breath and waited.  
  
"You never shut up," Angelus repeated. She heard him punch Spike again, and again, but was comforted by the fact that the blows weren't hard enough to topple Spike from his wheelchair. "Remember, boy. Remember who your betters are." Another crack came, and then another. "Look at how pathetic you are! In your little chair, with your little legs all weak and useless…"  
  
There was a snapping noise, sudden and grotesque. Spike screamed, but was cut off by another blow to his face. "Who is it!" Angelus shouted, another snap chasing his words. Buffy cringed as a loud crash came overhead. The sound of metal beating against concrete made her cover her ears. She knew that Angelus was smashing Spike's wheelchair against the walls of the crypt. Spike's not in it, though. He can't be.  
  
She heard a moan. It seemed to float down into the hole to her ears. No, he's not in the chair. But he's not okay, either. She climbed up one rung, but forced herself to stay hidden. I can't be stupid. I have to protect the timeline.  
  
Angelus' voice came again, labored this time. Why do vampires pant? she thought, then shook herself. Stupid thought. Stupid nerves that make stupid thoughts. Spike's getting beaten all to hell up there, and I'm sitting here wondering about vampire physiology. Can we say, nuts? Another, quieter, voice in the far reaches of her mind whispered Can we say, helpless?.  
  
She didn't hear the words Angelus said, but refocused in time to hear the response that came, not from Spike, but from Drusilla.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
"Enough, now," Dru said, standing over Spike's broken body. Her arms hung woodenly at her sides. "The game's no fun when he's asleep."  
  
"Then I'll wake him." Angelus lifted Spike by the upper arms and shoved him against the crypt door. He pinned Spike there with one hand around his neck. The wood shook under the force of the impact. "Wakey wakey, my stupid boy."  
  
Spike groaned. He lifted his head off of his chest, just high enough to look Angelus in the eyes. "Sod off," he slurred, his eyes rolling.  
  
"I'm hungry, my Angel," Dru said. She moved to Angelus's side and rubbed the back of her hand up his arm. "Let's leave. He's broken up into bits, and won't tell us a thing."  
  
"You heard the girl, Peaches," Spike said, coughing. Blood flew out of his mouth, spattering Angelus's face with red flecks. Dru moved away, dodging both the blood and the betrayal in Spike's eyes. "You've had your fun with the helpless vamp. I'm all put in my place and such. Go on now."  
  
Angelus backhanded Spike across the cheek, ignoring the blood that sprayed towards him. "Dru," he said, his voice sharp. He glared at her with yellow eyes. "You are not the boss. You don't make the rules. I do. I'll tell you when I'm done here." Looking back at Spike, he tightened his grip around his neck. "And I'm not nearly done with you yet. What a weakling you turned out to be. No stamina. You remind me of a girl I know… Buffy couldn't take it either. No staying power."  
  
Anger flooded Spike's battered face. He spat bloodied saliva at Angelus's face, not caring about the consequences. "The Slayer's gonna heave a sword though your center, you arrogant git. She's going to send you off to hell, you mark my words. You're nothing next to her, and she'll prove it to you."  
  
"You're a fool," Angelus growled into Spike's face. He closed his fist around Spike's throat, punching his torso with his free hand, again and again. "I'll make you eat those words one by one."  
  
"Angel," Dru purred, coming up behind him. She ran her hands over his back, caressing his shoulders. "Let's go home, love. I've a new game for us to play." Her hands dropped lower, rubbing his chest, his nipples. She nibbled along the edge of his ear, whispering to him, teasing him with her lips.  
  
Angelus went still, his head cocked towards Dru's face. He looked at Spike, then at Dru. His eyes dropped to the creamy skin of her neck. "One more game, Dru, then I'll take you up on that offer. Just let me cover this one detail before we leave." Turning his attention back to Spike, he lifted the vampire higher against the door. "You used to care about nothing more than Dru, except perhaps, for your own ego. Now you've found something worth turning into a martyr for. It disgusts me. You disgust me. I should put a stake through your heart, you know? I really should. But instead, I'll leave you with the punishment a martyr would expect."  
  
Spike blinked, blinded by the blood that covered his face. "W-what?"  
  
Reaching into his coat pocket with his free hand, Angelus pulled out a dagger, leaving its twin inside. "Nice, aren't they? Very strong, too. Magic can work such wonders on a well-made blade."  
  
Through the haze of red wetness, Spike saw a glint of silver metal. He began to struggle against Angelus's grip, scratching at the hand around his throat. "No," he said, his voice low. "No. I'll…" No, I won't tell him jack, Spike thought, desperation rolling around sickly in his stomach. He pictured Buffy, safe on the level below, listening to them. Don't say her name… don't even look in her direction. She's safe. Keep her that way. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he stopped struggling.  
  
Angelus brought the dagger to Spike's face, turning it over in his palm a few times for emphasis. Using only the tip, he cut a line down Spike's cheekbone, a narrow slice that welled immediately with blood. "You'll… what? Did I finally figure out what it takes to make little Spikey talk?"  
  
Biting his lips, Spike dropped his head in defeat. Enjoy hell, you wanker. I'll enjoy thinking of you, imagining you roasting on a spit for all of eternity. Don't forget who helped send you there.  
  
Angelus nodded. "Martyrdom it is then. Come here, Dru. Raise his arms up. That's right," he said, as she obeyed, "bare his wrists. Higher. There. Steady now."  
  
Spike closed his eyes.  
  
  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
  
  
It's been too long Buffy thought, sitting cross-legged on the floor beneath the ladder. She stroked Platelet's orange fur with both hands, trying to calm herself. The cat curled himself more tightly into her lap, by far the happiest creature in the crypt. Buffy barely noticed the cat, she was so inwardly focused. I should go back up the ladder, maybe peek out. I can't hear a thing from this far down.  
  
A scream filled the crypt, long and gut-wrenching. Buffy leapt to her feet, spilling Platelet to the ground. I just had to think that… why didn't I realize that not hearing was a good thing! She was on the ladder before she realized she'd even stood. Forcing herself to stop, she clung to the uppermost rung, her head tucked just beneath the opening. This is so not good she thought as Spike screamed again. This time she heard a slamming noise beneath his voice, a loud thump. Bad, bad, bad she babbled in her mind, biting her lips to keep herself from calling out to him. She dropped her head against the rung, rolling her forehead back and forth over the wood. Whatever's happening up there, I'll fix it. I'll fix him, when I'm not so totally, utterly, terribly helpless. It'll all be okay, when I can fix him.  
  
She heard Angelus say something, followed by the sound of the crypt door opening and slamming shut. A second slam chased the first, as if the door had been shut twice. But it only opened once. What *was* that?.  
  
The silence that came next was so thick with fear, Buffy shuddered. The ladder shook under her weight with a heavy sound. More of the 'not good', she thought, climbing down to the basement floor. If they find me, everything Spike's going through up there is for nothing. She took her seat back under the ladder, holding her knees to her chest for comfort. It's not for nothing, she thought, willing her silent words up to his ears. It's for everything. And I won't forget it. I'll make it up to you, when I'm not so damn powerless.  
  
  
  
  
  
****  
  
  
  
Drusilla ran her fingers down Spike's arms, tracing the trails of blood that flowed from beneath the knives that pinned his wrists to the door. "He crucified you, my Spike," she murmured, knowing he could not hear her. His eyes, swollen and oozing, stayed sealing in an unblinking oblivion. "Sleep now, yes, that's a good boy."  
  
She danced her fingertips through Spike's hair, her eyes wide with thought. "He's been a good daddy, my Angel has, to me at least. You… you needed a bit of a spanking. But I didn't know, not till I saw the stars around your eyes… not till then, did I know… the path you're on." Moving her face in close, she opened her mouth and licked at the blood on his lips, tasting him. "Your path is a strange one, but not so new. Remember the old stories? The ones with the evil sinners who got three chances to prove their heart's worth to the virtuous, least they be damned forever?" She traced the outline of his mouth with the tip of her tongue, her eyes closed. "I wonder, my Spike… was this your first test?" She took a final taste of his lips, savored it a moment, then stepped back, away from him.  
  
Opening the pocket of her cloak, she withdrew the bag of blood she'd brought to give him. She set it on the sarcophagus and paused there, touching the stone with the flat of her palm. A ghost of a smile flickered across her face at what she sensed there. "Angelus didn't feel it," she said, stroking her fingers over the shallow grooves that crisscrossed the stone. "He didn't feel *her*, but I do. My Spike's new friend."  
  
She walked back to Spike and kissed his mouth, her lips hard. "Take care of my boy," she called towards the hole to the basement. Opening the door with careful gentleness, she left.  
  
Buffy's head rose out from the hole. She looked at Spike, her face awash with horror. "I… I will," she said in an astonished whisper. Her body felt frozen; she couldn't move. I let this happen, she thought, taking in the way Spike's body hung from the two daggers in his wrists. Like freaking Jesus!  
  
Suddenly, Spike stirred. He rolled his head back against the door, moaning. "B…Buffy," he croaked, his mouth open wide.  
  
She scurried up the ladder, startled into movement by his pain. "I'm here," she said in a soothing voice as she reached his side. Her hands fluttered over him, not touching him for fear of causing further pain. "God," she whispered, looking at his legs. "He broke them both."  
  
Spike's breaths came in short pants. "Get me down."  
  
Buffy studied the daggers that held him, trying to decide the most painless way to free him. "There's just no good way to do this," she muttered, grabbing a handle in each hand. "I guess both at once would be best." She pulled backwards, yanking hard enough to loosen them out of both the door and Spike's wrists.  
  
She caught Spike before he could slump to the ground, pinning his body between hers and the door. Wrapping him in her arms, she lifted him, trying to ignore the small noises of pain he made. He sounded like a small child, she thought, cradling him against her a moment longer than necessary. She took comfort in the weight of him, solid and alive against her. "Here," she said, lying him on the sarcophagus. She handed him the bag of blood. "Drusilla left you some blood."  
  
"I was pretty sure they'd spilled it all," Spike said. Dropping the blood to the side, he held up his bleeding wrists. "Must've got a dozen pints just from these."  
  
"He didn't feed from you, did he?" Buffy asked, taking off her cardigan. She ripped a length of cloth from it and took his hand in hers. "Let me help."  
  
"No, he didn't feed," Spike said, watching as she bound his wrists. "Why do you care?"  
  
She shrugged, not knowing the answer. "It just… it just seems important. Like, insult to injury or something."  
  
"He must've been satisfied with just the injury part," Spike said, looking down his body to his legs. "I can't feel them, but I'm guessing they're broken."  
  
"You screamed," she said, tying off his wrist bandage and moving to his legs. "When he broke them. I heard you."  
  
"Yeah, well… habit, I guess."  
  
"No," Buffy said. She ripped another piece of cloth from her shirt and, finding her water bottle at the base of the sarcophagus, wetted it. Spike's face was an open wound. Dabbing the cloth at his forehead, she smiled. "It was smart, screaming then. You thought it might satisfy his demon without actually causing you pain. Really smart."  
  
"Loads of good it did me, too." He squinted as Buffy finished washing the blood from his eyes. "You can see just how eager he was to stop with my legs."  
  
Blinking rapidly as she examined the bruising on his throat, Buffy nodded. "You're a total mess," she said, her voice small and choked. "Look at these bruises… he held you up by your neck, didn't he?" Without waiting for him to respond, she continued, "I've seen him do that to someone before. Not… not fun."  
  
"Pet," Spike said, then stopped, coughing. The word was meant to bring comfort to Buffy, but he saw it only made the shadows beneath her eyes and mouth deepen. "Quit with the Florence Nightingale act, yeah? I'll heal." Ignoring his own request, he lifted his arms as Buffy went to remove his shirt.  
  
She didn't even try to maneuver it over his head, but ripped it down the center with one, hard jerk. "Sorry," she said, noticing him flinch at the movement. "Oh…"  
  
Black, blue and yellow marks covered Spike from collarbone to waist. Buffy touched the skin beneath his ribs, wincing in unison with him. "God, look at you," she said, shaken. She stopped playing doctor and rested her hand above his heart, wishing it would beat, wishing for reassurance. "You're… you're a mess."  
  
"Yeah, you said that already," Spike said. He started to raise an eyebrow, then stopped, hurting. "Bet you've never seen so much damage on a vamp."  
  
"Only once," she said, her eyes clouding. "Remember that hell god I told you about? You looked a bit like this when she got through with you."  
  
"You forgot to mention that part." Spike swallowed hard, trying to wash the blood from his teeth. "I thought you said I was tough, with that god."  
  
"You were," she said simply. Her lips tingled in remembrance of that day. Looking down at Spike as he rested on the same tomb he'd been lying on when she'd posed as the Bot, she almost believed it was still that day, that nothing separated now from then, and that he was that same Spike who had protected Dawn with his life. I guess he is still that Spike. He protected more than Dawn this time- he protected my whole world. And I haven't even kissed him this time. "Very tough," she whispered, licking her lips. "Why did you do it?"  
  
"Why did I…"  
  
"Why did you hold out against all that? You could've told Angelus I was down there. He wouldn't have hurt you, if you'd given me up."  
  
Her eyes suspend his, and he could not look away. Trying for nonchalance, he suppressed a shrug. "A whim or something."  
  
"Liar." Her eyes burned with memories so strong, it almost amazed her that he couldn't see them flashing behind her pupils. "Buffy, the other, not so pleasant Buffy… anything happened to Dawn, it'd destroy her. I couldn't live, her being in that much pain. I'd let Glory kill me first. Nearly bloody did."  
  
Forgetting the pain, he raised an eyebrow. "What's your problem, Slayer? I protected your bloody timeline, didn't I? What's it matter why?"  
  
Her look scalded him. It matters she thought, knowing he could read it in her eyes. You know it matters.  
  
"I helped you," he said, the words slow and thick. "Today, at least. But you know he'll be back. He's gone to shag my girl and to let me heal up enough to take another round of 'kick the Spike'. Next time, he'll probably end it with a stake through my heart."  
  
"Sound about right, for Angelus," she said, rewetting the cloth and washing his chest with soft strokes. 'Right' and 'Angelus' should never be put in the same sentence, she thought, especially after what he's done today.  
  
"I helped you," he repeated, closing his eyes at the feel of her fingers on his skin. "But I only bought you today. Tomorrow, it'll start all over again. You should leave town. Get away from everyone who knows you. That's the only way to be safe."  
  
"I can't leave. No money, remember?"  
  
"I have money," he said quickly, before she could object, "and it's yours. Got no real need for cash myself, and a vested interest in getting you as far away from Sunnyhell as possible."  
  
"Why do you care? I mean, suddenly you're all big-hearted and generous and… I don't get it." Her fingers pressed into his sternum, probing him. "Why, Spike?"  
  
He couldn't answer. For a long moment, all he could do was gaze back at her, matching the confusion of emotions whirling in her eyes with his own. "It just…" he stopped, wetting his lips with his tongue. "It's just what I have to do. It feels like the thing… the thing to do. Can you just leave off with that?"  
  
Bowing her head, she accepted his answer. "Drink," she said, handing him the bag of blood. "You need your strength. We leave tonight."  
  
He took the bag from her and vamped out, preparing to bite into it. Her hand on his thigh made him pause. "Slayer?" he asked, wishing he sounded confused, wishing he couldn't read the softness of her face with such uncanny ease. "Your hand is… umm…"  
  
"I'll move it," she said, her voice husky. She raised it to his face along with her other hand, cupping his cheeks between them. The warmth of her breath dampened his lips. "What you did today… for whyever you did it… for me… whatever. What you did today was real. It was heroic. And I'll never forget it." Her lips brushed his in a light, sweeping stroke, once, twice. Pulling back, she graced him with a small, genuine smile. "Now drink your blood so we can get out of this town. I'm so ready to say goodbye to the Hellmouth."  
  
He watched the swing of her hips as she walked away, the bag of blood trembling in his hands. "Slayer," he said in a panicky whisper, reminding himself of the chasm that lay between them. A flushing heat filled his chest, one he hadn't felt since his human years. He started to vamp out again, then realized he'd never fallen back into his human face. Realizing that Buffy had kissed him despite fangs and forehead bumps, the trembling of his hands intensified. He shook his head, trying to focus on feeding, trying not to think about her. And failing. Clenching his hands into fists to deny their weakness, he whispered again, desperately, "Slayer."  
  
*** 


	5. The Keeper of Truth Chapter 5

The Keeper of Truth  
  
Chapter 5  
  
Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.  
  
Rating: R for now. Maybe more later.  
  
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, email me..  
  
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com  
  
Author's Note: Due to the fact that for some reason, I can't post italics on ff.net, thoughts are put into brackets like these. Also, I do not know Latin. Forgive me for the errors.  
  
  
  
**********  
  
1998  
  
  
  
  
  
The train rumbled to life beneath Buffy's feet, throwing her off balance. She reeled against the wall of the tiny hallway, her arms tightening reflexively around Spike, who was cradled in her arms like a child. A very large, loud, obnoxious child, she thought, one who reeks of cheap liquor. The sound of his drunken laughter grated on her nerves. Pulling herself off the wall, she gritted her teeth and continued down the hall towards the private compartment they'd reserved from a pay phone.  
  
"I'm really missing your wheelchair right about now. Good thing people in Sunnydale all live in a state of perma-denial. Normal people might ask us how someone my size can lug around a guy your size. Plus, there's the whole beaten-up, not breathing part." She grunted and fell against the wall as the train rocked again, nearly dropping Spike. Clasping him closer to her chest, she sighed with relief at the sight of their destination.  
  
"Ooh, Slayer, that's right," Spike said, still chuckling. "Put your hot, little hands right about there. No, no, go just a tad lower."  
  
Buffy's hands twitched beneath his thighs. "I move them and you hit the ground," she hissed into his ear, fumbling for the door handle. "Don't tempt me. You're drunk and disgusting. I wouldn't put my hands on your ass in the best of times, much less when you smell like a distillery."  
  
Tucking his head against her shoulder so that they'd fit through the narrow doorway together, Spike stuck out his tongue, tasting the skin where her shoulder met her neck. "Sweet," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I knew you would taste sweet."  
  
"What! Oh, ew. You're so out of your mind. I never thought you'd be such a lightweight. Big, smart idea, getting you drunk to dull the pain… if I'd known it would turn you into a such a…a… hey, watch the hands! Keep them to yourself, or loose them." She opened the door and kicked it shut behind them. "Home sweet home," she said, surveying the tiny room quickly. "Hey, hands, remember!" Without warning, she dumped him on the couch.  
  
"Ahhh," he moaned, closing his eyes and curling onto his side defensively. He pulled his legs up with his hands, moaning again at the sound of his broken bones shifting. "Mind the bruises, pet. And the cuts. And the broken bones. The bloody rattling of the train is bad enough on my body without you throwing me all about. I'm sloshed, yeah, but not well enough for that."  
  
"You think the rattle's bad? Wait a few hours till the sun comes up. You're going to be stuck in this compartment, on that couch. No where for you to go, especially without a wheelchair." She moved to the small window and shut the blinds. "And I'll be stuck in here with you. I can't exactly move around without a care, not yet anyways. This train is jammed full of people from Sunnydale and Los Angeles. What are the odds that none of them have heard of the Slayer?"  
  
"Better than the odds I would've given on this whole situation last week. Who'd have thought you and I'd be trapped in here together for god- knows-how-long, with nothing for entertainment but each other." He brought his hands up to pillow his cheek, wincing as the wounds on his wrists complained. "A couch, a table, a window, and I'm guessing behind 'door number two' there's a toilet. No telly. No books. Not even a deck of cards."  
  
"There's a radio," Buffy said, pulling it from underneath the table. "That'll do for entertainment, for a few hours at least. When we cross the border, all we'll get on this is Spanish."  
  
"You don't hablo the español?" Smirking hurt, but he did it anyways. "Well, at least one of us will be entertained."  
  
She sent him a black look, then opened the door to the bathroom. With a sigh of relief, she said, "There's a shower. Yay us. Or, yay me, anyways. You're not gonna be on your feet anytime soon. Too bad, too, since you're the stinky one."  
  
Spike's face clouded over. He closed his eyes again and said nothing, only took a deep breath, and then another. And then stopped breathing all together.  
  
"Breathe," Buffy said, watching him. "It's creepy when you don't."  
  
"Breathing hurts, you bloody fool." He didn't open his eyes, but Buffy could see the glare lurking beneath the lids as clearly as if he had. "Everything hurts."  
  
She hovered over him, uncertainty making her movements jerky. A thin, blue blanket hung over the arm of the couch. Reaching for it, she covered him, ignoring his wheezy curse.  
  
"Quit your fussing," he growled, but tried to pull the blanket up higher. The movement made him gasp in pain.  
  
Perching on the table, Buffy tucked the blanket around his shoulders. "Better?" she asked, her voice quiet and carefully free of pity. No pity here, nope, no way. A pity free zone. Just because you got all these injuries to protect me, that in no way makes me want to nurse you. Nope. Her lips twitched, and she covered her mouth with one hand. What an idiot. He needs help. You think he'd just accept it, but no… Nothing can ever be simple. "Want an aspirin or something? I saw a kit of stuff like that in the bathroom."  
  
"Vampires aren't real big on aspirin, Slayer. A bottle of tequila, maybe, since we're headed south of the border and all. But nothing so sissy as an aspirin."  
  
"We got you all liquored up before we left town. That was supposed to last you a while."  
  
"Yeah, well, tell that to the pain in my back." He pushed his cheek into the orange couch cushion. The friction opened the gash on his cheekbone, and he licked at the thin line of blood. "And in the rest of me too."  
  
Buffy settled back against the wall, drawing her legs to her chest. The denim covering her knees felt rough beneath her chin, and she turned her head, enjoying the texture. "We'll be in Mexico soon. After a few days, most of the Sunnydale passengers should be gone. I'll get out at a stop and get you some tequila. Until then, aspirin is your only poison. Satisfied?"  
  
The answer- no- was so obvious, he didn't even bother with it. He blinked at her once, with eyes so bloodshot Buffy didn't know how he could stand the feeling of his eyelids scraping over them. When he closed them, hiding their misery from her sight, she was relieved.  
  
She hugged her legs more tightly and laid her head on them, wishing she hadn't noticed that Spike looked even worse after being lugged across town and onto the train than he'd looked ten hours earlier, after his bout with Angelus. The bruises had risen to a ripe fullness on the skin of his face, along with a translucent sheen that spoke volumes about the aches he must be feeling above his waist. Below the waist he, of course, felt nothing. Buffy was glad for his paralysis. She'd done her best to force the bones of his calves back into alignment back at the crypt, but she couldn't see if her efforts had been successful through the huge amount of swelling that had bloomed since then. She wasn't about to mess with them again. The sound of his screams will stay with me forever, she thought, squeezing her own legs more tightly.  
  
"Are you just going to sit there," he asked, moving nothing but his lips.  
  
"Not unless I want the pattern on this table permanently engraved on the seat of my jeans." She shifted, uncomfortable. "I think that couch pulls out into a bed. You up for moving?"  
  
"Not as such." He squinted at her. "You're going to make me?"  
  
Swallowing a pang of sympathy, she nodded. "If that's the only padded seat, you're not getting all of it."  
  
He nodded and closed his eyes, waiting with reluctance for her to lift him.  
  
"Help me," she said, grabbing him under the arms. She pulled him over her shoulder, fireman-style. "Put your arms up."  
  
He ignored her, but she didn't mind. The look on his face told her that he was barely keeping it together. Setting him gently on the floor, she unfolded the couch and made up the bed as fast as she could.  
  
"There," she said, settling him onto the crisp, white sheet. She waited for him to pull himself into a ball again, but this time he stayed still. Her hands trembled on the top sheet as she pulled it over his legs, then moved up to hover over his face, over the worst of the bruising that circled his left eye. "We should change your bandages. They're getting kinda ripe," she said, her voice low and apologetic. "I guess we'll have to cut your jeans off. They're not gonna fit anyways if that swelling keeps up." Without waiting for his answer, she went into the bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit.  
  
When she returned, kit and scissors in hand, he hadn't moved. Had she not known better, she would've assumed he was truly dead. "Spike," she said, kneeling on the bed beside him. "Can you… umm… twitch or something? Just so I know you're not gonna bite me if I touch you?" The sleeve of his shirt brushed her knees, though she hadn't seen him move. "Umm… fine. Okay. Let's get on with this."  
  
Pulling back the sheet, she undid the button of his jeans, her eyes glued to his face in search of a reaction. When she found none, she continued, unzipping his fly and opening the scissors. "You really don't want to startle me right now. Wouldn't want me to slip," she said, putting the lower blade under the denim. Heat from his body warmed the metal, confusing her until she remembered he'd fed before they left the crypt. The scissors were too weak to cleanly cut the thick material, but she didn't want to rip the pants away without at least a tear started. He was in enough pain without her jerking his legs around again.  
  
The black denim gave way to bright white briefs. Suppressing a giggle at his mundane choice of underwear, she spread open his jeans the rest of the way. What she saw beneath them made her bite her lips. "I'm not gonna tell you it looks pretty under here," she said to him, though she doubted he was conscious enough to listen. "Let's just say… the rotting look does not suit you."  
  
"I *am * a corpse, you know," he muttered, surprising her. "More blood's all I need to heal."  
  
"We'll take care of that after I clean you up a bit." She unwrapped the bandages, wrinkling her nose. "Ripe is such a weak word when it comes to describing this stench."  
  
"I get it, okay? Rotting, smelly, bad Spike. Enough with the running commentary."  
  
"Fine," she said, opening the first aid kit and removing a ball of gauze and a bottle of disinfectant. "On with Nurse Buffy."  
  
He turned his head away from her, clenching his jaw as the disinfectant hit his skin. A low growl rumbled out of him, followed by words spoken so hard, Buffy couldn't understand them.  
  
"Are you talking to me?" she asked, gingerly patting the wound on his right calf where the bone had pierced his skin.  
  
"I said, why are you doing this?"  
  
"Running away? You know why."  
  
"No," he said, his words gritty, "not running away. Taking care of me. I know, I know, you have a timeline to protect, and I know all your little secrets. Makes me a big danger, right enough. So, why nurse me back to un- health? Be easier just to stake me. That *is* what you do, remember? Slayer?"  
  
She didn't answer for a moment, only continued to disinfect his leg. The damp gauze felt cold against her fingers, a welcome feeling as it distracted her from the slimy wetness of the fluid seeping from his wound. Her thoughts swirled together; she couldn't pick them apart enough to answer. Finally, she said, "No."  
  
"No?"  
  
"No." Moving to his left leg, she pulled out a fresh piece of gauze. "Before Angelus and Dru crashed our little crypt party, you asked me a question. You asked me if a tiny piece of metal imbedded in your brain made that much of a difference in who you are. Who you will be." Wetting the gauze, she stared down at his leg, unable to look him in the eyes. "No. That's my answer. You're still you, only less… tested. I just… I just never knew it, until…" Trailing her finger alongside the gash with feather-light pressure, she darted a glance at his face. "Until this."  
  
Something flickered over the line of his brows, but he said nothing. She took a deep breath, knowing he must think she'd gone insane. Pushing the heel of her hand into her forehead, she took another breath, and wondered if he might be right. Take a little death, add a smidge of time travel, and voila! One nutty Slayer. Her knee jerked, tipping the bottle of disinfectant over and startling her back to her work. "How're your wrists?" she asked, keeping her face closed of all emotion.  
  
"They'll keep." He hissed as she palpitated the muscle of his calf. "Hey. You better know what you're about down there."  
  
"You can feel this?" she asked, tickling the skin of his ankle with her fingertips. "Hey. Yeah. You could feel all this, the sting of the medicine and everything. I didn't even think… why didn't you say something?"  
  
"It comes and goes," he said. "I try to move, and there's just nothing. Angelus breaks my legs and… nothing. Not much, anyhow. But sometimes, along the skin especially, I get… umm… prickles."  
  
"It's coming back already. The feeling in your legs." She capped the disinfectant and put it back in the first aid kit.  
  
"You tell me. You're the all-knowing future girl, after all."  
  
Shrugging, she moved up his side to his chest and began to open the buttons of his shirt. "It's not like we were best pals. All I know is that sometime before May, you'll be up and running." The shirt opened to reveal the too- pale skin of his chest. Bluish bruises flourished over his ribs and down towards his hips. She started to touch one, then paused. "I'm just gonna…"  
  
"Yeah," he said, rolling his head back to stare at the ceiling.  
  
Beneath her hands, his skin felt smooth and solid. She stroked them over his pectoral muscles and down his sides, trying to feel the bones underneath. "Your ribs have healed already, I think. I don't feel any bumps."  
  
"Look lower," he muttered, the corner of his mouth turning up.  
  
She gave him a poke, then winced as he recoiled. "Umm… sorry. Well, okay. You can button your shirt yourself. I'll… umm… oh, wait. Let me get some water and soap and stuff. If I'm gonna be stuck in here with you, I'm going to have to do stink-control."  
  
"You're not gonna give me a sponge bath. I might be a pathetic ponce just now, but I'm not getting wiped down like a child in nappies." He struggled to raise his shoulders up and glared at her, his eyes bright with pain. "You might think about a good wash yourself. I might stink of whisky, but you're the one who rolled out of a grave not too long ago."  
  
"Fine. But if you're not up and in that shower by tomorrow, I'm dumping water on you, like it or not." She pulled the sheet over him, covering him to his chin. As she folded down the edge of the sheet, her hand brushed his jaw. The stubble scratched at her, and she jerked away. I didn't like that. No, I *so* did… not. His eyes were on her when she looked up, silent laughter locked inside them. "You got to ask me a question. Now, it's my turn. I want a straight answer from you. Why are you doing this?"  
  
"That's so unoriginal, pet."  
  
"Just answer me." Her eyes held his, unwavering and solemn.  
  
He shrugged, ignoring the pain. "Staying in Sunnyhell rather lost all appeal when Angelus decided to make me his punching bag. Not like Dru cared overmuch, you realize. And…"  
  
"And what?"  
  
"Like I said before, it just feels like the thing to do. Going with you… it feels right, don't ask me why. I don't get this. How I feel… all funny inside, warm. I feel more alive… I'm even breathing more often. Must be your influence. Living with a human is rubbing off on me or something. Helping you… skipping town with you… I'm doing it because it feels right, but I don't understand it."  
  
She gave him a hint of a smile. "I think I do, maybe. We've skipped town together before… or, before for me. You know what I mean."  
  
"Why, because I was in love with you in the future? This warmth, the breathing… you think that's… love?"  
  
The word came off his lips soured, which stung her. She inhaled sharply, trying to loosen the sudden tightness in her chest. "No," she said, "of course not. But it's something. You don't hate me. And I don't hate you. It's… something  
  
He rolled his eyes. "So that chip really did send me on the fast track to poofterdom."  
  
"If that's what you want to call it, but it wasn't the chip that did it. I might've never realized that if I hadn't seen Angelus beat the tar out of you. You did a lot… I mean, you will do… or would've done a lot for us."  
  
"You're not a bit worried that taking ole Spike out of the other Slayer's future will screw things up, are you?"  
  
Without a thought, she shook her head. "No way. You helped, but you weren't exactly vital. There was the whole truce, where we took down Angelus, but if it hadn't been you helping me, it would've been someone else. Xander, probably."  
  
"Tell me more about future me. I want to hear all about my downward spiral into softness and sissyhood."  
  
"Would a sissy grab the blade of a sword in both of his hands to keep it from slamming through my skull? I don't think so. You risked yourself to take off with us, me and the gang, to save Dawn's life. It was more than I ever expected of you. You really pulled through."  
  
"'S that why you lugged me with you? Because we'd gone together before?"  
  
She looked down at her hands, fiddling with the edge of the sheet. "You're the only person in the whole world who knows I exist. I didn't want to be alone. And I couldn't just leave you there."  
  
Raising an eyebrow, he said, "Are you saying… we're friends?"  
  
Her arms jerked back, away from him. With wide eyes, she shook her head. "No. We're not friends. More… I don't know. More… something. But not friends."  
  
"Even after doing all those goody-goody deeds, catching the sword and whatnot, Glory torture, you still couldn't think of me as someone worthy of friendship?" Dropping his head back on the pillow, he shut his eyes. "Not like I care, mind you. Just that… what does it take with you? You're here with *this* me, being all Florence Nightingale-ish, when you say you never treated the other me so good."  
  
"I didn't think you were worthy of anything back then. Friendship… not something I'd even have considered. You were just… always there. Helping. I could count on you. And then I die and get all lost in the past, and here you are, helping me again. I… ummm," she flushed, amazed at herself. "I was wrong. I mean, obviously."  
  
"The Slayer admits she was wrong? Well, that might mean more to me if I had any memory of what it is you've done to me. As it stands, I'll just enjoy the fact that I'm on a train and not in a pile of dust somewhere." He licked his lips, wetting them. "You do realize I'll have to eat."  
  
"There are butchers in Mexico. You'll survive."  
  
"Not exactly what I meant, pet. Just because your other Spike was leashed doesn't mean I have to be such a whelp."  
  
"So, you're going to start killing people, once your legs heal?" She squeezed the sheet between her hands, annoyed with herself for the trepidation that hung on her words. "You know that won't work with me, Spike. I can't let you do that."  
  
"May, you said? I get my legs back then?"  
  
"Around then, yeah." She looked down at the bulges under the sheet where the bandages on his legs were. "Maybe sooner, I guess."  
  
"I could leave you, when I'm better." He watched her, giving nothing away with his gaze. "You'd fight me, wouldn't you?"  
  
"Of course I would," she whispered. "Slayer… big protector person, remember? I can't let you hurt people. You know that. If you leave to do that, once your legs are working… well, I won't let you."  
  
He turned on his side towards her, rolling his legs with him. "Seems we've got some issues to work out, if we're keeping this partnership together. Either I live like a human, or we fight to the death. That's it?"  
  
Don't leave me alone, she wanted to say, wanted to beg. Pathetic much? There will be no begging. Pull it together. "Live like a man, or die like a vamp. It's your choice. But either way…" Don't leave me alone. Her hands shook on the sheet. She dropped her grip and folded them together. "Either way… it's up to you."  
  
He closed his eyes tiredly, accepting her terms. "Right then. We'll fight, or we'll stay together. But we're not friends. Fine. I get you."  
  
"Right," she said. She leaned forwards, pulling the sheet up to cover his shoulders. "That's it. We're not friends. You've just… always… gotten me. And I think I'm starting to get you, too."  
  
He chuckled, a sound heavy with weariness that fell between them like a wall. "Which me?" he asked her in a rumbling undertone. "Chiphead?"  
  
Laying down beside him, she followed the line of his throat with her eyes. Just let yourself go, already. "Both. Either. Doesn't matter. The chip didn't make a difference. It was a wake-up call, that's all." With a hesitant hand, she reached towards him and brushed her thumb over his bruised cheekbone. "You were always… you."  
  
Their eyes locked together over Buffy's hand, both stunned by the emotion between them. Spike shook his head, one sharp movement that came to him from instinct rather than desire. Her hand fell back, hanging in the space between them. With a tight smile, Buffy let it drop. She jumped off the bed and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her with a firm click.  
  
He watched her leave, his eyes narrowed. Shifting restlessly, trying to relieve the throbbing of his back, he kept his gaze on the door behind which, he could hear Buffy breathing in deep, desperate gulps. All of his pain and confusion welded together inside of him, swelling up into a single upsurge of devouring yearning. Cursing himself for his foolish patheticness, he tore his eyes away from the door. He grabbed a pillow and pressed it over his face, over his ears, trying with no success to block out her sounds. "Bugger," he whispered, pushing his hands into the ache of longing in his chest as if he could tear it out. "Bugger me."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**********  
  
  
  
Sunnydale, 2001  
  
"Good thing I saved all these," Willow said. She snuggled deeper into the couch, pulling one of Giles' journals higher on her lap. The vanilla- colored pages were covered with tiny words inscribed in black ink. With the tip of her index finger, she traced the date Giles had written in the upper corner of the last page. "Lots of info here, but it seems kinda off that I'd have them. I thought they were suppose to go to the Council if Giles died? Big Slayer/Watcher secrets and all?"  
  
Tara leaned back against the couch cushions, looking over the mounds of leather-bound journals that layered the coffee table. The center of each cover bore the initials R.G. burned in italics. They were all in impeccable condition, though their owner had died nearly three years earlier. "They were your babies," Tara said, curling her legs up beneath her and facing Willow. "You kept them under lock and key in a fireproof safe. All the years you'd spent with Xander and Gile, with Buffy, before she… changed… all those years are documented in these books. I think you'd have sold your fillings before you'd part with them."  
  
Licking her tongue over her molars, Willow sighed. "I was right to keep them. The Council wouldn't have used them right. They never did have any respect for Giles. 'Cause, you know, he loved Buffy. Like, really loved her. And love is a big evil to those guys. Or that's how they acted, at least." Flipping through the pages of the journal open in her lap, she found what she was looking for. She rapped her knuckles against the page. "See, like here. He writes about Jenny, how she lied to us all. Giles loved Jenny, but in here, all he writes about is how he's mad at her for hurting Buffy. Nothing about how she hurt him." Closing the book, she rubbed the pad of her thumb over the initials on the cover. "He cared more for Buffy than he did for himself. He would've given up his life for her, without even thinking twice."  
  
"He did," Tara said. She took the journal from Willow and opened it to the last page. "This night, he did. I guess he wrote this just before the vampires captured him. Sometime between writing this and the next night, he was murdered."  
  
"That's just… no. That didn't happen, not really." Tears choking her, Willow swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "No. That's all a part of the stupidity that is me. I screwed it up." She gazed at Tara with wet, bruised eyes. "How did it happen that night? In your reality, I mean?"  
  
"I don't really know too much. Buffy… she was more than broken. There was no way for her to talk about what took place."  
  
"She never said what happened? Not a word?"  
  
Tara dropped her gaze, avoiding Willow's eyes. "When she'd have nightmares, sometimes she'd cry out about it being her fault. Like… at night. Every night. She was broken, Will. I never knew her as anything else. By the time I met you, she'd… well, she was not the Buffy you knew."  
  
"I have to fix this, Tara. All this… it's beyond bad. Bad we've dealt with before. This is something new. Worse." She covered her face with trembling hands, her words soaked with misery. "I might as well have killed them myself."  
  
Rising to her knees, Tara moved to Willow's side and stroked her hair. With one hand, she hooked Willow's chin and gently pushed her head up. Their eyes met, and held, both tired, both afraid. Tara smoothed the tears from Willow's cheeks. She brushed a kiss over her lips, then said, "We'll fix it, honey. You and I. All these books… they'll tell us how to make things right again." Kissing her again, she caressed Willow's cheek, then tucked a lock of loose hair behind her ear. "You're no killer," she said, her voice a serious whisper.  
  
The words breathed across Willow's face, reassuring and sweet. She gazed into Tara's eyes, searching for any hint of blame, but finding only determined compassion and love. Sniffling, she nodded. "Okay. Pulling myself together here. We've got a lot to do, and me being all Sobby Sally isn't going to fix the timeline."  
  
"That's my girl," Tara said, relief lightening her face. "Where do we start?"  
  
"I'm thinking we could combine a general reversal spell with elements from the original spell, sort of a magic hodge-podge." She stood and went to Buffy's weapons chest, which now held various magical components. Pulling out several items, she continued, "We have all we need, I think. Are you ready?"  
  
Standing, Tara moved the coffee table to one side. She folded back the carpet to reveal a circle of black paint on the floorboards. "We're ready," she said, kneeling and blessing the circle with a quick motion of her hands.  
  
"Let's go it then," Willow said, sitting across from Tara. She crumbled the leaves of a spicy smelling plant, making a star-shaped pattern in the center of the circle. "Per meus famen, divello factum." Removing the cork, she upended a glass vial and sprinkled the red powder from inside over the star. Energy, like a blue wind, began to swirl over the circle. Concentrating, neither Willow nor Tara noticed the yellow light that glowed from their skins. "Refero Buffy. Abrogo veneficus." The wind moved faster, blowing the leaves out of their star-shape and sucking them up inside itself. Throwing her arms into the arm, Willow finished, "Refero Buffy!" before slumping backwards onto her back.  
  
"Willow!" Tara shouted, jumping up and breaking the circle. The blue wind fell away, scattering bits of leaves over the living room. She started towards Willow, but was stopped by the movement of the ground. It quaked beneath them with a rolling roar. The walls shuddered from the force, shedding pictures and mirrors to fly to the floor.  
  
Rolling onto her side, Willow crawled into the doorway. Tara followed her. They huddled together, watching wide-eyed as the earthquake continued, breaking the window. Glass rained over the couch. Outside, a woman began to scream.  
  
"Did it work?" Willow asked, dazed. She reeled dizzily to one side. "The spell? Did it work?"  
  
Drawing Willow against her side with one steadying arm, Tara looking at the wreckage. The woman on the street was still screaming, and as she listened, other screams arose. In the distance, an ambulance blared its siren. Hugging Willow closer, Tara felt her heart sink. "I'm thinking no."  
  
  
  
**********  
  
1998  
  
  
  
  
  
Spike jerked awake to a crashing sound coming from the bathroom. He listened for a beat, then called out to her. "Slayer? You miss the pot?" When there was no answer, he propped himself up on his elbows. "Buffy? You alright in there?"  
  
She didn't answer. He cocked his head, listening for the sound of her breathing, the sound he'd fallen asleep to. There was no noise coming from the bathroom at all. A sick feeling rose in his stomach, but he swallowed it down with annoyance. "Buffy, answer me," he said, an edge growing under his words. "I can't come to you, pet. Answer me!"  
  
Suddenly, the door to the train compartment was flung open. Spike jerked back on the bed, stunned at the site of a not-quit-human standing before him, panting. The man whipped his head back and forth, searching the compartment with exaggerated movements that would've been comical under any other circumstances. "I smelled it," the man said, raising his face and glaring at Spike.  
  
"Umm… smelled what, mate?" Taking in the man's appearance, Spike felt the bed behind him, hoping for some kind of weapon to magically appear. Creatures with faces textured like dried prunes and red eyes were not to be trusted offhandedly. "You've got the wrong compartment. But while you're here, you might do me a favor and…"  
  
The creature stepped forward, growling. "Where is she? I smelled the mystical energy, vampire. If you've hurt the Slayer…"  
  
Pointing towards the bathroom, Spike said, "In there." He leaned forward, waiting to see in the door. When the creature hesitated, Spike rolled his eyes and flipped back the bed sheet to reveal the bandages on his legs. "Hurry along now and check on her, will you? As you can see, I'm not really able to."  
  
"I don't care about you," the creature said, shaking his finger at Spike as if scolding a naughty child. "It's the Slayer I'm here for. Who cares about vampires?" With a final glare, he pulled open the door to reveal Buffy lying sprawled on her back on the floor. Blue and yellow energy crackled over her body, sparking the air with tiny flames.  
  
Looking back at Spike with a beaming smile, the creature nodded. "Just as I smelled. She's spell-shocked." 


	6. The Keeper of Truth Chapter 6

The Keeper of Truth  
  
Chapter 6  
  
  
  
***********  
  
1998  
  
  
  
Looking back at Spike with a beaming smile, the creature nodded. "Just as I smelled. She's spell-shocked."  
  
Spike gaped at the creature, incredulous. "Spell-shocked? No one's been casting any spells in here. She must've fallen and hit her head or something. Quit your grinning and help her!"  
  
"She's not hurt," the creature said, stroking an enormous, withered hand over Buffy's hair. "Were she hurt, I would sense it straightaway. There's nothing natural wrong with her. Can't you feel the magic? She's been stunned by a spell gone wrong. It'll take a while for her to come back from this. Smell that energy crackling?" He raised his face towards the ceiling, inhaling deeply through two oval nostrils that lay flush against the bones of his skull. "Powerful, it is. So potent, it was a challenge to smell the scent of Slayer beneath it. And not cast from this dimension, definitely not. Trans-dimensional magic never goes well."  
  
"Get her on the bed," Spike snarled. He glared at the creature, vamping out for effect. "Now."  
  
Ignoring Spike, the creature continued to pet Buffy's hair. "Lovely. So lovely. The Slayer is truly a wonder, is she not? I'd heard as much about her line, but this is the first Slayer I've met. Her hair… so gold… it's softer than anything else I've felt. Even my Annabella's hair, and wasn't she a wonder herself." His hand faltered, and he fell back slightly. "My Annabella was such a wonder," he repeated in a whisper, his red eyes glowing.  
  
"Fine. Your Annabella was a swell bird. Great. Now bring the Slayer up here, before I…" His hands clenched into fists. Helpless. He was nothing but a helpless lump, too weak to even see if Buffy was breathing. Baring his fangs at the creature, he threw a pillow at him. "Before I yell at you real loud, you nit. Get her up here!"  
  
With great care, the creature lifted Buffy up and cradled her against his enormous chest. He stood only about five feet off the ground, but was built like a thickly-muscled square. His legs were so burly that he waddled as he walked, but Spike didn't care what the creature looked like. All that mattered was that there was someone who could help Buffy, when he could not. It should be me there, helping her, he thought, running his tongue over his fangs before relaxing his face into human features. I hate this bloke.  
  
Laying her on the bed next to Spike, the creature smoothed Buffy's hair back from her face. He hovered over her, anxious to help. "I'll get a cup of water for her. The Slayer would like that, I think. A cool rag for her forehead, that would be nice. Another pillow, those there are no good. And maybe some soup. Annabella liked soup. Does she like soup?"  
  
"Slow down there, Martha Stewart." Spike placed a possessive hand on Buffy's forehead. He looked down at her, noticing the blue stains on her eyelids. Bruises grew there, as though she'd been punched in the eyes by invisible fists. "Not so fast. Answers first. Who are you?"  
  
"The name's Hugh," the creature said, punching a fist against his chest in punctuation. "Hugh Lowery."  
  
"Okay, that's… helpful. How 'bout telling me *what* you are? A faery, sure, I can see that, but what sort?"  
  
"You can't tell by the look of me? I know, I know, I'm big for a Brownie… and then, there's the red Phooka eyes- got those from my grand- dad, but my blood's only a bit mixed, really."  
  
"And you came from… where?"  
  
"Britain, originally. I looked after mistresses and their households for centuries there, happily." A sad smile flickered over his face. "Then, I met my Annabella. She was something special, she was. Never been so taken with a human before I met her. I broke all the traditional rules, just to know her, to have her see me. When she left Britain to join her cousin in Mexico, I followed her. I cared for her home here for decades, until…"  
  
"Until she died. That's the way of it, mate, when you love the mortals." Running a hand through his hair, Spike sighed. Smart thing to do would be to send him on his merry way. Foolish to trust strangers offhand, but… not much choice here… we need help. Help with legs that work."Right, then. You're a Brownie, so you help people. No threat there. Go on, help her."  
  
Hugh nodded complacently. "Water, water will help. Wouldn't do for the Slayer to wake up with a dry mouth." He tucked the sheet around Buffy's still form, then rushed into the bathroom. Returning with a mug of water, he wetted one finger and let the water dribble off it onto Buffy's lips.  
  
"That's rather disgusting, you know," Spike said, watching Hugh feed Buffy more of the water. "Germs and whatnot. She's the sort who'd care about things like that."  
  
"I gave water to my Annabella in this manner," Hugh explained. He rubbed his thumb under Buffy's lower lip, keeping her face dry. "She'd choke trying to drink the regular way. I could never let my mistress choke."  
  
"Your mistress?"  
  
"I'm a Brownie. Caring for humans is what we do. The Slayer is now mine to tend."  
  
Raising an eyebrow, Spike said, "You sure about that? She's not the sort to need much help. Can't say she'd thank you for the attention."  
  
Hugh shrugged his enormous shoulders, smiling humbly. "After a week of my care, she'll thank me well enough. And as you've noticed, she's in no condition to argue."  
  
Looking down at Buffy's slack fact, Spike had to agree. He rested his hands over his stomach, which gurgled with hunger. "How long you think she'll be like this?"  
  
"A week? Two? It's not an easy thing to judge, you understand. T'would depend on the spell cast, on the witch casting it, even on what the Slayer ate for breakfast."  
  
"Eggs and toast," Spike muttered, pressing his hands into his belly. Hunger pains. Like I needed any more. "Jam, too. Some kind of berry. Don't remember what."  
  
"So, you are lovers, then? I don't normally care for vampires, but as the Slayer's now my mistress, I'll have to make an exception for her lover."  
  
Spike burst out with a single, nervous chuckle. "Lovers! She's the *Slayer*, you dunce!"  
  
"And you're a vampire. One who knows what she eats for breakfast. One who grows very nervous when another man touches her. One who shakes like a scared child when he sees the Slayer unconscious on the floor." Hugh stood, shaking his head and making tsking noises at Spike. "You must be a rare beastie, for sure."  
  
"Hey. None of that 'shaking like a child' stuff, you get me?" Making a chomping motion towards Hugh's neck, Spike glared at him. "And you're not exactly a man, now are you. No more than I am."  
  
"Much less than you are. You were once a man; I'll never have that pleasure. Now, enough of the chatter. I must tend to my mistress. You… is there anything you need? I see you've an incapability there. Your legs, they pain you?"  
  
"Incapa…" Spike broke off, shaking his head. "You are a real wanker, you know that? I'm not incapable of jack. Just don't happen to be up for a jaunt around the block at the moment."  
  
Waving his hand, the Brownie shrugged. "Testy, aren't you? Never fear. I've no notion of coddling you like a nursling. Just tell me what you need, and I'll see you have it."  
  
"Anything?"  
  
"Just about. Food? Drink? I expect those are one and the same for a fellow with tastes like yourself. Perhaps something for the pain? I see you're hurting. I can help you with that. It's not a bit of a trouble."  
  
Spike shook his head. "The trouble comes when this train reaches its last stop. Not so long now, and we'll all be tossed off, one unconscious Slayer and one paralyzed vampire. You sure you're up for that sort of challenge?"  
  
With a happy grin, Hugh laughed. "As I said, I'm a Brownie, vampire. It's what we do. There's a solution to every problem, and a problem to every solution. I solve the problems, care for my mistress, and…" He tossed Spike a wink. "And I'll care for you too, vampire or no. Her smell is all over you. You are hers. Therefore, you are mine to tend as well."  
  
Falling back against the pillows, Spike closed his eyes. He kept one hand on Buffy's hair, hoping she felt less pain than he did. "Do your job then, mate. The train'll come to its final stop before the day's out. I'd say we're in need of some looking after."  
  
  
  
**********  
  
2001  
  
  
  
"Wider, hon," Tara said, gesturing with a brimming dustpan to the black, garbage bag Willow held open in her hands. "I don't want to get this glass on your hands."  
  
"Too late," Willow said, looking down at the scratches that ran up to her elbows. She gaped the bag open, allowing Tara to dump the remains of the window inside. "Our earthquake sorta threw knives of it at me. Almost like it knew I was to blame."  
  
Tara picked up the broom and took it around the back of the couch to sweep the floor. She looked at Willow, tucking her hair behind her ear with one hand. "The spell fizzled, Will. It wasn't your fault."  
  
"It was too my fault. If I hadn't messed things up so totally in the first place…" She pressed her lips together to silence herself, fighting off utter misery. Leaving the garbage bag slumped on the floor, she leaned against the wall and watched the muscles of Tara's back move as she swept. "But yeah, the whole fizzle thing wasn't me. As least, I don't think it was."  
  
"What happened? One minute, things seemed okay. The magic was so powerful… but then, next thing I knew, you fell over."  
  
Sighing, Willow shook her head. "I'm not completely sure what that was. I felt it all happen, but… it's kinda confused in my head. As soon as I asked for Buffy to come back, to return to how things were, I got this huge… surge."  
  
Tara straightened up and faced Willow, both hands wrapped around the end of the broomstick. "Surge," she said, her brows arching. "Like, an energy surge?"  
  
"Maybe. I… I don't think energy is it, exactly. The spell reached Buffy, I know it did. I could sense her there. But…" She folded her arms over her chest, hugging herself. "The magic sort of tugged at Buffy, psychically, like a… like a lasso or something. It tried to snare her, to bring her back to where she's supposed to be." Dead, a cold voice whispered in the back of her mind, making her shudder. She's supposed to be dead "It failed, big time. Something about Buffy broke the connection. When I fell back, it was like… like Buffy had sent the magic whipping back at me."  
  
"Oh honey," Tara said, dropping the broom and reaching out to Willow with both hands. She took hold of Willow's wrists and pulled her down onto the couch, sitting close to her. "That… that's not good."  
  
Willow leaned her head on Tara's shoulder, inhaling the scent of her shampoo for comfort. "It's like there's something keeping her there."  
  
"Something? Like, a spell? An entrapment spell, maybe?" Tara hugged Willow closer. "That's good, if it's a spell. It means we can fix it." She turned her face away, hiding the nervous tic above her eye. "Probably," she said in a shrinking voice. "Maybe."  
  
"No, it wasn't a spell, not that I could sense at least. I don't think it was magical at all. Something more mundane. Something… internal, emotional. Inside of Buffy."  
  
Straightening, Tara held Willow by the shoulders. "She wasn't throwing off your spell on purpose, Will. You know that. Even if Buffy was adept enough at magic to do such a thing, she'd never… never…"  
  
"No, she had no idea I was even casting the spell. But there's something about where she is that's keeping her there. Something she doesn't want to leave."  
  
"You think that's really it?"  
  
Willow nodded. "Yeah. I felt it. Buffy's psychic 'stubborn face'. She's not the type to let go of something she wants without a fight. And it's not like she knows she's ruining the timeline by hanging onto it."  
  
"What do you think it is?"  
  
"It could be anything, knowing Buffy. Or anyone. Whatever it is, it could be the key to fixing this whole mess. Buffy needs to be told that she's got to let whatever it is go, so we can make things right again. The timeline is more important than whatever she's got going there. She'll understand that… we just have to tell her."  
  
Tara slipped a lock of Willow's hair behind her ear with soft fingers. "You're just gonna call her up with your magic phone line to time dimension 1998?"  
  
"If I thought I could reach her magically, I would. But she doesn't want to hear me. Obviously."  
  
Tara gently pushed Willow back, reclining her into the couch cushions. She lifted Willow's feet and placed them on her lap. "I have an idea for that. The time travel problem. The reversal spell would work, if we could get to the focus of the spell- to Buffy, in the past. So, we'd have to get you into the past to do the spell."  
  
Willow pointed her toes into Tara's hands, and closed her eyes as Tara began to massage them. "Me? Into the past? Talk about the Big Scary."  
  
"It sounds bad, I know. The whole idea of it… it just sounds wrong. A huge potential for more bad stuff to happen. And then there's the whole danger- to-you part. A-and, I don't even know how we'd go about it. Time travel… not an easy thing." Tara squeezed her fingertips into the arches of Willow's feet, drawing comfort from the solid feel of her muscles and bones. "I hate it, Will. Just the thought of it makes me all quivery. We're talking about strong magic, way too strong for me to mess with. But whatever wrong that could be caused from sending you back… could it really be that worse from what's already happened?"  
  
Her eyes still closed, Willow shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I'll be careful, but it doesn't matter. The timeline is already so totally broken, and it's all my fault. No matter how dangerous it is, I have to do whatever I can to fix it.  
  
They sat a moment in silence, both overwhelmed with a mixture of fear and reluctant hope. Tara gazed at Willow's face, taking in the dark sweep of her lashes over her cheekbones. With her eyes closed, Willow looked less like the powerful witch she was, and more like the mundane college student Tara sometimes wished she could be. She ran her hands up Willow's ankles, massaging the taut muscles of her calves. "Will?" she said in a husky whisper. "You'll be okay?"  
  
Willow opened her eyes. Giving Tara a small but determined smile, she nodded. "I'll make it right again. I will. But first, we have to figure out what went wrong. If we could figure out what she did that changed everything, it might help us learn what she's holding onto so tightly. We should find out as much as we can about what happened to Buffy. I guess maybe we could check the Internet, do a search to see if we can find her in the past. She would've laid low, knowing Buffy."  
  
"Poor Buffy. She must've been so confused. To come back to life and find yourself in the past… with no one to go to for help… how awful."  
  
"Or maybe not laid low. Maybe she did go to someone for help. Giles, or someone. That could've been what screwed up the timeline. Maybe knowing that she was there threw everyone off their game enough that they lost to Angelus." Willow turned her face into the pillow, rubbing her cheek against its softness. "That could've been it."  
  
Tara frowned. "Yeah, maybe. It would explain why Buffy- the Buffy I knew- thought that what happened that night was all her fault. And why she'd never tell us what happened. But…" She bit her lips, pensive. "I don't know. It could've been that, but it could've also been a million other things. Let's go over that night again- the way it should've happened. There must be something different from my memories to yours. Tell me again, where everyone was that night? What were they doing?"  
  
Taking a deep breath, Willow crossed her arms over her chest. "I was in the hospital, doing the spell to restore Angel's soul. Oz and Cordy were with me. Giles had been kidnapped by the vampires the night before. Xander went to find Buffy, to tell her we were going to try the spell. He wanted to help her too, I think. We all did. But there just wasn't much we could do, aside from the spell. And that came too late."  
  
"What was Buffy doing before she went to rescue Giles?"  
  
"She had to go home to get her weapons." Willow's lips twitched. "She called me from there- that's how we found out about where Giles was. She told Xander to meet her at the mansion. And… oh!"  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"She said she had help. And she did. This was so weird… her help was Spike. And don't think we didn't hear about it when Xander found that out- that Buffy had chosen Spike to help her fight Angelus instead of him. That was the start of their stupid little competition. Of course, Spike was a better help, being a vampire and all, plus the whole element of surprise with him being able to walk and not telling Angelus he'd recovered. He protected Giles- if you can call letting him get tortured, just not to death, protection."  
  
"Spike?" Tara raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't he that vamp who left town after Angelus stole his girlfriend and Buffy dropped an organ on him?"  
  
"What? No, Spike didn't leave town then, he had to help Buffy beat Angelus first… oh."  
  
"Again with the Oh." Tara moved Willow's feet aside and stood up. "That's it then, isn't it. That's what changed. In my reality, Spike left town months before the whole Acathla thing. And in yours…"  
  
Willow sat up slowly, shock paling her face. "Apparently, he saved the day. Even though we didn't know it then. Wow. And in the other reality, something happened that made him leave town. Something that my Buffy caused. Because of that, everything changed. Giles died. Xander died, so Anya was never summoned by Cordelia for vengeance. Dawn was never created because… because…"  
  
"Buffy wasn't exactly what you could call stable after loosing Xander, Giles, and Angel. I can't imagine anyone trusting her with the Key to hell."  
  
"And all this because Spike wasn't there." She covered her mouth with one hand, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Wacky. Just wacky, that Spike could be that important when none of us knew it. We always treated him like he was… nothing. Worse than nothing, even when he was helping us and saving Dawn. And then there was the torture… Glory… god, even Xander felt bad for him that day. But we still treated him like he was… like he was a normal vampire."  
  
"Don't feel bad. Normal or not, he was still a vampire. You wouldn't expect the whole happiness of the town to be balanced on a demon, no matter how nice he acted."  
  
Willow met Tara's eyes, her gaze earnest. "But he made such a difference. How did it all go, in your reality?"  
  
"You already know most of it. Xander and Giles died. Buffy staked Angelus before he could open Acathla. She nearly died herself. You told me that you found her in the hospital a few days later, with major injuries. Head wound, broken bones, the whole works."  
  
"Then what?" Willow asked, clenching her jaw to brace herself for the answer.  
  
"We met about… oh, about a year and a half later." Tara squeezed Willow's hands. "You were so depressed, honey. The first time I saw you, all I could do was wonder how I could help you."  
  
"Depressed?"  
  
"Buffy never really recovered from the Acathla thing… from loosing everyone. She stopped slaying all together… Sunnydale was-" She looked by instinct towards the darkened space where the window used to be- "*is* a pretty scary place. Lots of demons. Anyways, you moved in here, and you and Joyce took care of Buffy. Then, just a few months ago, Joyce died. And after that, Buffy was just… unreachable. I'll never forget how red her blood was when she cut herself…" Tara dropped her head, her voice cracking. A tear fell on Willow's hand.  
  
"And Buffy died too. All because Spike left town." Willow murmured, pulling Tara to her. She stroked her hair with soothing gentleness. "What could she have done that made him leave?"  
  
Rubbing her eyes, Tara said, "Whatever it was, it must've been bad. He never came back."  
  
"She didn't stake him, though. My Buffy wouldn't have done that. They were… well, not friends, but they cared about each other." With a small smile, she said, "He loved her. But hey, not for a few years yet, where Buffy is. So when she got back to the past, they probably just fought. He couldn't be what's keeping her there. You have to understand… she was always trying to get him to leave town. That's why it's so ironic that in the other time dimension, she succeeded."  
  
"Well, I guess it's more important right now to make sure we can get your back to talk to her, before we worry about what you'll have to argue against."  
  
Willow sighed. "I have no clue how to get back there. It's not like I did it on purpose when I sent Buffy…"  
  
"You got her back there by flubbing the spell," Tara said, gentling the words with a duck of her head. "But that won't work to get you into the past. Do you…" She rubbed her eyes again, obviously conflicted. "Do you know a spell? I hate even asking that. We shouldn't be messing with magic so powerful. But there's no real choice."  
  
"Or… hey!" Willow jumped to her feet, startled by the thought that flashed through her mind. "Hey! There's another way. A kinda dangerous way, but I think… I think it'll work. I have this friend… or, I did, in the other time dimension. Right now, I guess she's a scary, veiny, demon-y kind of friend… one who won't know me… but she should be pretty unhappy when she finds out I've screwed with her past."  
  
"Unhappy enough to help you fix it?"  
  
"That depends." She held out her hand to Tara, helping her up. "You feel any vengeance-y type wishes coming on?"  
  
  
  
**********  
  
Mexico-Guatemala border  
  
1998  
  
The birds were singing. Not just one or two, but an entire chorus of them, all performing in the lush trees that stretched into a green canopy above him. Any other time, Spike might've taken a second to wonder at a place where birds sang at night. Any other time, he might've stopped to appreciate the strangeness of the jungle, how different it was from any other place he'd been. Any other time, but as it was, all he could do to keep himself from crying out was ground his eyes shut and curse the insane Brownie who was pushing him on a small, wooden cart through the vegetation.  
  
"Would you quit with the whistling?" Spike growled, gnashing his teeth as the cart jolted. The pain in his back screamed with every bounce that reverberated through the thin wood floor beneath him. He grabbed the edge of the cart, trying to keep from rolling into the unconscious Slayer who lay next to him. "There's enough pain here to go around without you causing more with your poncy tunes."  
  
"Never fear, vampire. My sweet Annabella's house is just around this bend. Once we're inside, I'll have the place cozy and cool, and the Slayer can rest in comfort." With a glance over the bulk of his shoulder, the Brownie plodded forward. "And you may rest as well."  
  
"Isn't that just… arg!" Spike bit down hard on his lip as the cart skipping over a dip in the path. "Watch the potholes, will you? As I was saying, that's just ducky. You sure no one else decided to move into Annabella's house while you were off on your trip?"  
  
"It was no trip. I was seeing my Annabella's ashes safely to the north. There's a lake there, a lovely bit of water. It was her last request of me. That, and to see her home put to good use." Dropping one hand from the cart handles, Hugh took a swipe at his eyes. "It will be empty, surely. Empty, empty, empty, without Annabella."  
  
Spike thumped his head back against the floor of the cart. "Right, mate. Sure. Just remember, the bird here and I are hiding out. No neighbors would drop in here, I'm guessing. Who'd trek through the jungle to visit an empty house?"  
  
"It'll do well for you and the Slayer." Hugh let go of the cart. It hit the ground with a thud. Panting, he rubbed the sweat from his brow and pointed through the darkness. "It's there, the house."  
  
Spike vamped out, letting his vision pierce the darkness. "Well, you've got an odd sense of the meaning of 'hide out'," he muttered, taking in the vast mansion. It stood three levels high, with windows dotting the white front in generous number. Skirted by a wide porch all around, the house looked welcoming. "This is your idea of laying low? A bloody mansion?"  
  
"Secluded though, it is. Have no fear, vampire. No one ventures this far into the jungle who doesn't belong here."  
  
Raising one hand in the air, Spike said, "Hello, you think I belong here?"  
  
"She does," Hugh said, pointing at Buffy. He scooped her up into his arms. "I'll just get her inside, make her comfortable. Then I'll return for you."  
  
"Right," he said, then shook his head. If it's a trap, the Slayer'll never even wake up "Or, maybe not. You'll be fluttering about for days making her all snug and fit. Take me in first."  
  
Hugh blanched. "But, the Slayer…"  
  
"Is a tough girl. She'll last out here long enough for you to dump me on a bed somewhere. S'not like I take any tending. Just dump me inside and come back for her."  
  
"You make my job difficult, you realize," Hugh said, lifting Spike over his shoulder in a single movement.  
  
"Yeah… lot of that 'difficult' crap going around," Spike said. He groaned, his back on fire. "Let's move, faery."  
  
Inside, the house stretched darkly around him, vast and cool. Hugh left the front door open and progressed up the wide staircase, ignoring Spike's soft growls of pain. A hallway passed by Spike's eyes, then another, blurs of shadow and numerous, closed doors. Finally, Hugh found the room he was searching for. He opened the door and dumped Spike onto the bed. Without word, he turned around and left.  
  
Spike kept his eyes closed for a moment, as if he could suppress the pain by closing himself off to the world. Opening them, he found himself to be lying on a large, canopied bed. It was draped with red, gauzy sheaths, as were the walls of the room. The window was covered with wooden shutters, a fact which Spike noted immediately and was grateful for. Letting his eyes slip shut, he took several deep breaths, listening to the sound of Hugh's heavy feet walking towards him down the hall.  
  
"The Slayer will be at rest in the bedroom beside yours, vampire," Hugh said, poking his head into the room. "I'll take her there now."  
  
"Like hell you will," Spike said, trying to sit up. His exhausted body made it halfway before flopping back onto the pillows. Propping himself up on his elbows, he nodded to the bed. "She'll be staying right here, where I can keep an eye on her."  
  
Hugh stepped back, surprised. "You don't trust me? I'm a Brownie. I'd never hurt the Slayer. It's against my nature."  
  
"Again, a lot of that going around. You think it's in my nature to protect her?" Spike asked, his voice harsh. He flung a hand out, pointing at Buffy. "The Slayer? Not two weeks ago, killing her was all I could think about. Now, look at me. A gimp stuck in a poncey, canopy bed, fighting with you about who's gonna protect her."  
  
"You love her. Love does change the nature of the creatures who bear it. This I know better than any other truth. For me and my Annabella…"  
  
"Oh, would you quit with the mooning about for bloody Annabelle!" He rolled his eyes, then looked down at his lap, pretending not to notice the hurt on the gentle faery's face. "Look, just bring her here. Leave her with me, and go about your business. You want to take care of this chit, you gotta spruce the ole hide-out up a bit. Lights, she likes lights, being human and all. And the kitchen's sure to need a scrub, you having been gone. Never know what little crawlies might've taken up residence there."  
  
Blanching, Hugh scuttered forward. With great care, he lowered Buffy onto the bed beside Spike. "I… I'll bring a basin of warm water, a-and a rag. You… she must be bathed. See those creases of dirt and sweat on her face, from the jungle? She'd never stand for that. Human women do not sleep with dirt on their faces."  
  
"That's a rule, is it? Well, bring along your basin and whatnot." Pulling the bed sheet over Buffy's legs, he flashed the faery a sardonic smile. "We're not going anywhere." 


	7. The Keeper of Truth Chapter 7

The Keeper of Truth  
  
Chapter 7  
  
Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.  
  
Rating: R for now. Maybe more later.  
  
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, email me.  
  
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com  
  
Author's Note: Due to the fact that for some reason, I can't post italics on ff.net, thoughts are put into brackets like these. Next chapter update will be in about 10 days since I'm off on vacation to the Grand Canyon.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
*************  
  
Mexican jungle  
  
1998  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The room glimmered with soft light. Candles flickered on every flat surface, illuminating only the necessary places, letting shadows envelope the corners. Red draperies covering the walls glowed, giving the light a red, sensual cast. Propped on his elbows above her, Spike looked down at Buffy's face, appreciating the blush cast by the light on her pale skin.  
  
He shifted on the bed, curving his body beside hers, her hair tickling the V of his elbow. Careful not to spill the small basin of water that rested between them, he reached into it and grabbed the small sponge. Wringing it out slightly with a squeeze of his fist, he stroked it along the side of Buffy's face, leaving a trail of wetness behind.  
  
"Sorry 'bout all the washing. I'd leave you to sleep in peace, were it up to me, but your watch-faery insisted you get the scrub-down every day. Didn't want to cross him. You know, that bit about biting the hand that feeds you and all."  
  
Her forehead, small and square, glistened with a thin layer of sweat. Totally absorbed, he dabbed the sponge over her temples and above her eyed, taking in the subtle arch of her brows, the shadowed sweep of her eyelashes, the delicacy of her eyelids… shaking himself, he pushed his hand away, soaking the sponge in the basin.  
  
"Not that he's feeding me so well, you realize. No bloody O negative to be had, he says, and if there were, well, even then he'd still make me drink that animal swill. Big on keeping humans safe, he is." A lock of her hair stuck to the damp skin of her forehead. He smoothed it back, denying to himself the truth of his hands lingering on her head. The soft tresses felt warm beneath the coolness of his fingers, like something alive, a plant or the earth beneath the sun. He nearly expected the strands to wind around his knuckles like vines, pinning him to her. Stroking her with long sweeps of his hand, he smirked inwardly, challenging himself to keep touching her. Challenging himself to pull away.  
  
"A regular humanitarian, our Hugh is. Not unlike yourself. The two of you would get on right nicely. Birds of a bloody feather." The skin of his palm tingled, as though the mere act of touching her gentled the humanity back into him. Yanking away, he fell back onto the mattress, panting. He rolled his head back to face her, panting, then snapped his mouth shut, reminding himself of the senselessness of breathing. Gaping at her, he stuttered, "Not that we're doing too poorly ourselves."  
  
What's happening to me? he thought, rubbing his palms on the blanket as if to clean them of contamination. He spread his fingers out in front of his face, stretching taut the skin of his palms. They looked untouched, the same pale skin creased into life and love lines. Life line, he thought, tracing it with one finger. How ironic.  
  
"Whatever it is you're doing to me, Slayer, I don't like it. I can feel you crawling around inside me, all warm and pulsing with life, and it makes me… it makes me want things I can't even start to understand. Just a bit ago, your mum was going at me with an axe, and now I'm here, nursing you like I…" Love you? No. I wasn't about to say that.  
  
He gazed at her, his eyes wet and sore with helplessness. "Whatever it is, it's eating me up. All of me, all of who I am. Maybe it's not you that's doing this. Maybe it's because I can't hunt, can't feed. Not so much a vampire now as I am a… a…"  
  
What was that, below her lip? A twitch? Just an involuntary spasm of muscle? "Slayer?" he asked, rising up above her and touching her chin. "You waking up?"  
  
Her lips twitched again, then opened in a yawn. Moaning, she flung her hands up to scrub at her face. "Spike," she moaned, squinting at him. "Where… where are we?"  
  
"Morning," he said gruffly, relief lightening his features. He hadn't been worried about her. Not really. He'd always known she'd wake up no worse for wear, but… But. "We're home, I guess. Nice of you to finally wake up. Been waiting, you know. You sure took your time about it."  
  
She turned her head, rolling it back and forth, as though proving to herself it was still attached. Blinking over dry eyes, she looked at him. "I've been awake," she rasped. She licked her lips, dehydrated. "When I heard your voice, I knew I wasn't dead. Bloody this, bloody that… in heaven, no one talks like you do."  
  
Taking hold of the sponge, Spike dripped water onto her lips. He started to wipe at the water that ran down her chin with the edge of the sheet but stopped himself, remembering. Slayer. Vampire. That's the drill. None of this pansy nursemaid nonsense. "You all right, then?"  
  
"I'm weak," she said, her voice proving her words. "But yeah, I'll keep." She turned onto her side and faced him. Curling into a ball, she wrapped her arms around her legs. "I'm cold, though, which is weird since it's so hot in here. What happened to me?"  
  
Spike moved the basin before her movements could spill it. He pulled the blanket up and tucked it around her shoulders. "Dunno what happened, really. Hugh says it's a spell gone wrong. Thwapped you in the head, magically. You've been asleep a good long while."  
  
"Hugh? I'm guessing you don't mean Grant."  
  
"Your new best friend. A sort of Mary Poppins-type of faery. He's been taking care of you for the last week. Found us this house to hide out in. Not a bad bloke, really."  
  
"Where'd he bring us?" she asked, touching his arm as if by accident. Her hands itched to feel his skin, to reassure herself of his presence. "It's hot here. Are we still in Mexico?"  
  
"Barely." Jutting his thumb towards the window, he said, "Guatemala's about a lick that way. The train stopped at the border, smack dab in the middle of the jungle. You wouldn't remember that, being that you were out for the count, but we had a hellish time getting you off that train." Hugh had a hellish time getting *us* off the train he corrected himself silently, grimacing.  
  
"What are we going to do in the jungle?"  
  
He shrugged. "Live, I reckon. For a while, at least. You'll be wanting to head back up to the States eventually, to kill off that hell god before she can kill you."  
  
Fighting back a shudder at the memory of Ben's face, Buffy nodded. "Yeah, but that's so not something I want to think about right now. We've got a few years to kill before then. We're just gonna stay here? Alone?"  
  
"The middle of nowhere is a decent place to hide out. Especially with Momma Brownie here to take care of you. And as for me…"  
  
"What about you?"  
  
Covering his panic at the thought of heading back to Angelus's neighborhood, he said, "Not really looking forward to the repeat journey back to California. The ride down here was bad enough. Especially the last jag, trying to juggle you around. You should be glad you don't remember that."  
  
Buffy closed her eyes. "I do remember some of what went on around me," she whispered. "The sound of the train's whistle… birds, lots of them, singing. And I heard you… what you were saying to me. About changing."  
  
His face tightening, Spike looked away. "All rot," he said, his voice rising in defense. He twisted his hands together, smashing the lines of his palms. "Total rot. Not a word of it true."  
  
"Don't, Spike," she said simply. She opened her eyes and searched his off- turned face. "Don't lie to me."  
  
Silence grew between them, enveloping them in tension. Spike watched the flicker of the candles on the nightstand, his jaw clenched. She kept her gaze glued to his face, afraid that if she looked away, she'd miss any hint of capitulation. The candle flames sputtered as if reacting to the emotions swelling around them. Red light moved over Spike's face as though it were liquid; Buffy thought that it would burn her fingers if she touched it.  
  
Finally realizing he was planning to remain silent, Buffy let her eyes close. Her mind, still heavy with weariness, drifted away from the man lying beside her. She let it go, let herself remember the identical man she'd known, the one with a chip in his head instead of on his shoulder. The way that man would look at her when she'd enter a room, as if he'd been waiting a lifetime just to see her walk through his door. The way he'd fight beside her, with wiry grace, and fight with her passionately, whole- heartedly. His voice, the words he would say, courageous words no one else could ever be brave enough to let loose. She could hear him in her mind, hear his last, private message to her.  
  
"You don't understand what's happening to you," she said, her tone low but tender. "I heard you say that."  
  
He didn't respond, but the line of his mouth tightened up a fraction more. Giving him a moment to come clean was difficult, but she held off, waiting. After several moments passed without change, she touched his hand, a pressure of her fingers so quick and light, he could pretend not to feel it if he so chose. Which he did. He blinked once, deliberately, as if telling her to go on.  
  
Sighing, she folded her hands under her cheek and continued. "You feel alive now, after being with me. Like you've lost your evil. Well, poor you. I guess you can imagine I'm not feeling too sorry for you about that."  
  
Twisting his lips into a grim smile, he nodded, but didn't look at her. "You're right there, Slayer."  
  
"The day I died, you said something to me, something that made me realize I cared about you. You stood in my house, looking up the stairs at me, and you said these words to me that… that tugged at me. 'I know you'll never love me,' you told me. 'I know I'm a monster, but you treat me like a man.' And I did treat you like that, not always, but then." She broke off, coughing.  
  
Spike dragged his head around and met her gaze. There was a spark of some impalpable emotion in his eyes, one that both heartened and mystified her. "You're saying that you were able to forget… to forget about this?" He vamped out, brandishing his forehead lumps like weapons of defense.  
  
She reached up to him with one hand, covering the lumps, then stroking them with tender caresses as if they were a wound. "Let's talk about now," she said, watching his eyes close. She trailed her fingertips over his temple. "I treat you like a man, so you feel like one. It's that simple. Maybe… maybe neither of us understand this… this connection we have. But maybe we don't have to."  
  
His cheek felt smooth under her hand. She traced the ridge of his cheekbone, delving into the hollows beneath, then lowered her fingers to his jaw, his neck. Feeling him swallow hard beneath her touch threw a ghost of a smile on her lips. She continued, rubbing her knuckles over the prominent shape of his collarbone beneath his black cotton tee-shirt. Showing no sign of hesitation, only patient curiosity, she let her hand roam lower onto his chest.  
  
In a quick jerk, he caught her hand, fisting it inside of his and pressing it against the hard plane under which, his heart once beat. He searched her face as if reading her thoughts. His expression held an almost imperceptible note of pleading. Pressing her flesh against him, he started to speak, but couldn't. He released her hand, but didn't pull away when she raised it to his face, to outline the contours of his vampire mask.  
  
"I see you," she whispered, her fingers pressing on his skin, so hot he felt branded, claimed. Her eyes, large and liquid, captured him. "You. I see you."  
  
His voice, when he found it, sounded gravelly, as though it had fought its way up from deep inside his body. "Slayer… Buffy." Clearing his throat, he continued. "This… these changes, between us… Just because I didn't want them to happen… that doesn't mean I want them to stop, either."  
  
"You can live like a man. I know you can. I've seen you do it."  
  
He weighed her with a critical squint. "No, you've seen 'chip head' do it. And if you think I'm heading back up to Sunnyhell to voluntarily stick my balls under a knife, you're dead wrong."  
  
Her face glowed back at him, lustrous with crimson candlelight. When she took his hand in hers, the very air between them seemed electrified. Looking down at their entwined fingers, her lips curved upwards. "Your chip was just a motivation. Couldn't you find a better one?"  
  
The white of his fingers contrasted with her tan, glaring their elemental differences up at Spike. He watched the pad of her thumb move in circles on the back of his hand. Her bravery astounded him nearly as much as her gentle insistence. An indefinable feeling of rightness flooded him. Covering their join hands with his free one, he felt his whole face spread open in a smile.  
  
*****  
  
  
  
  
  
Sunnydale, Summers home  
  
2001  
  
  
  
The smoke rose between them, spiraling up from the gold goblet. Willow held the mystical herb by its stem. Pinching bits off, she sprinkled them into the goblet. Meeting Tara's eyes through the smoke, she gave her a reassuring smile and began the summoning ritual.  
  
"Anyanka, I beseech thee. In the name of all women scorned…" Adding more herbs to the fire, she took a heartening breath and continued. "In the name of all women scorned, come before me."  
  
Silence fell over the living room. The girls looked at each other, confused. As the smoke began to dissipate, Willow frowned and looked down at her book. She threw another pinch of herb into the goblet. "Come before me!"  
  
Tara looked around. "Maybe she doesn't like us," she said, a nervous smile growing on her lips. "Maybe we're not scorned enough for her to…"  
  
"Or maybe she just doesn't like me. We were never all crazy about each other. I guess we'll have to find another way." Reaching for a book of matches, she relit the goblet. "Will you give it a try?"  
  
Pinching off a bit of herb, Tara held it over the goblet. She closed her eyes a moment, lines of concentration furrowing her brow. Releasing the herb, she said, "Anyanka, I beseech thee. In the name of all women scorned, come before me."  
  
She materialized before them in a burst of power so strong, it sent goose bumps up Willow's arms. The demon mask she wore made it easier for Willow to separate her from the Anya she'd known. Tara jumped to her feet and moved a few paces away, her face pale. She looked at Willow, gesturing for her to be cautious.  
  
"Anya…nka." Willow looked at the demon, not sure of what to say. "Umm… nice to see you again."  
  
"Why have you summoned me?" Anyanka asked, her words forthright. She crossed her arms over her chest. "What is it you wish?"  
  
Willow fidgeted nervously with the hem of her shirt. "Well, that's kind of a funny story, actually. I mean, not funny 'ha-ha', but funny, I turned the whole world into a terrible place kinda funny."  
  
Pulling Willow back from the demon with feigned casualness, Tara gave the demon a polite smile. "H-how about some lemonade?" she asked, pointing Willow towards the couch. "You two chat, and I'll… I'll be right back with that."  
  
Leaving them alone, Tara went into the hallway. She opened the closet, searching for a weapon she could use again Anyanka. "Just in case," she whispered to herself, pulling out a dagger with an elaborate handle from the mess of weapons that had once belonged to the Slayer. Tucking the dagger into her waistband, she headed for the kitchen, her ears peeled for noises of distress from the living room. When none came, she relaxed slightly and poured lemonade into three glasses. She settled them onto a tray and moved back into the living room.  
  
The room was silent. Willow looked up as Tara entered, her eyes wide. "I… I told her everything. She knows it all."  
  
"L-lemonade?" Tara asked weakly, putting the tray on the coffee table. She held a glass out the Anyanka, forcing her hand not to tremble.  
  
Anyanka stood in the center of the room, her face clouded with thought. Ignoring Tara's offering, she sighed and threw her hands up in the air. "Fine," she muttered, "We'll fix your stupid timeline."  
  
"I know you're not too thrilled about being a human, but…" Willow gave her a tentative smile, "but hey, look at the bright side. Xander's a pretty neat guy, and… and… oh, you'll get to make lots of money."  
  
"Fine. Whatever. Let's just get it done." Anyanka fingered her necklace. "I'll send you back to your friend. You know where she is, right?"  
  
"Umm… well, she was sent back to Sunnydale." Willow frowned, looking at Tara. "I don't think she would've left. This is her home."  
  
Tara shook her head. "She wouldn't have stuck around. Too dangerous. This is a small town, and someone would've recognized her. Buffy's too smart for that."  
  
Rolling her eyes, Anyanka said, "Right. So, you find your friend, then I'll send you back to her. She'll probably be in Sunnydale eventually, if she died here. Humans are always drawn to their own deaths."  
  
Willow's face lit up with realization. "That's right!" She jumped to her feet and grabbed Tara's hands in her excitement. "Maybe this didn't go so badly after all! I mean, yeah, the world pretty much sucks, but hey, if we leave Buffy in the past long enough, she could kill Glory before she's ever in any danger!"  
  
"What good would that go? I mean, once we change the timeline back…"  
  
"No, see, Glory's an inter-dimensional god. Her death is final, no matter where it's done. It'd stick." Turning to Anyanka, Willow grinned. "She'd want to do it right after Glory showed up in Sunnydale, before anyone realizes there's a god in town. That'd be the safest for her. Probably in September of 2000."  
  
Anyanka tapped the ground with the toe of her shoe. "So, I'll send you back to that time and you can do your little spell. Satisfied?"  
  
Tara moved closer to Willow. "That means Buffy would be messing around in 1998 for two more years. She could do a lot of damage in that time."  
  
"It won't matter. When I find her and do the reversal spell, it'll undo whatever she's done. And she'll get to stay alive." Her eyes were bright with relief. "After all this, everything will work out just fine. My spell didn't flop as badly as I thought it did."  
  
"Then let's get going. Just let me grant the wish that brought me here, and I'll send you back." Anyanka gave Tara a nod. "What do you want?"  
  
Puzzled, Willow said, "Tara? You have a vengeance wish?"  
  
Unable to look at Willow, Tara nodded. "I… I wasn't sure, not until just now, if it was the right thing to do. But… Will, you ruined the whole world with your magic, and listen to you! Yes, your spell *did* flop badly! Just take a look around you! My whole world has been painful and dark, all because you took it upon yourself to play God. I love you, and I hope you'll understand that I'm making this wish out of that love." Taking a deep breath, she said, "I wish that after the timeline is restored, Willow looses all her ability to do magic. She'll be a regular girl."  
  
Above the sound of Willow's gasp came Anyanka's firm voice. "Done." 


	8. The Keeper of Truth Chapter 8

The Keeper of Truth  
  
Chapter 8  
  
Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.  
  
Rating: R for now. Maybe more later.  
  
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, email me.  
  
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com  
  
Author's Note: Due to the fact that for some reason, I can't post italics on ff.net, thoughts are put into brackets like these.  
  
  
  
****  
  
The bed creaked as Buffy turned onto her stomach, waking up. She pressed her face against the side of Spike's shoulder, rubbing her cheek in groggy circles against the softness of his tee-shirt sleeve. They'd held hands for hours in a comfortable silence before falling into sleep, side-by- side and almost innocent in their amazement at each other. Spike slept on his back, his mouth tipped open. The line of his teeth gleamed white in the candlelight. Reaching up, Buffy ran her fingertip lightly over the blunt ends, so flat and human looking. If I didn't know what he was, I'd never guess he *was* a what. He looks like a regular person.  
  
And that's what we can be here, she realized, watching the bleached strands stick up in tufts as her fingers played. The thought froze in her brain. Not the Slayer, not a vampire. Just us. Just a girl and a guy, lying in bed, finding their way together. Here in the jungle, where no one knows me but him, I can have a normal life.  
  
Excitement fluttered through her, filling her body with energy. The house around her seemed to buzz with life, making every cell of her body ache with the urge to leap out of bed. She fastened her gaze on Spike's face, searching for any sign of alertness and coming up empty. "You still asleep?" she whispered, knowing he was. She threaded her fingers into his curls, pulling at them, enjoying the softness. "There's lots to do, you know. Can't sleep the night away. We have this whole house to explore. And I want to meet Hugh."  
  
Surfacing slowly from the depths of sleep, Spike sighed and smacked his mouth shut. He rolled his head on the pillow until his lips found her forehead. "Still sleepy," he said, his words tickling her skin. "Should've known you'd be a morning person."  
  
She smiled and took his hand in hers, rubbing the hairs on the back with her thumb. "It is so not morning."  
  
"Morning is whenever you wake up, to my way of thinking." He yawned out of habit. Sitting up, he stretched his arms over his head. "What's with the 'early bird gets the worm' routine? You that anxious to go try on your new life? See how it feels to be a normal girl for once?"  
  
She was surprised to hear his words echo her own thoughts. "What's wrong with that?"  
  
"Not a thing, pet," he said, settling back into the pillows and stroking his hand over her hair. "Not a bloody thing. Only… look at what you have here. You, me, the bed… that's a boatload of normalness for you. No patrolling, no demons, no Watcher or end-of-the-world-oh-my to worry about. Relax. Enjoy." Making a gasp of mock-horror, he said, "even sleep in!"  
  
"Not counting the months in the coffin, I haven't slept in for… well, since before Mom died, that's for sure. No, since before the Initiative… and college, I had morning classes. And there was training, Giles liked to do that early when we could, and…" Rolling her eyes in self-annoyance, she relaxed into the mattress and pulled the blanket up high around her shoulders. "You're right. This is my new, normal-girl life. And part of that life definitely includes lazing around in bed."  
  
Dropping his hand lower, he splayed his fingers over the skin of her upper arm below the sleeve of her shirt. His mouth quirked with amusement. "Well, that about covers sloth. Let's see what other deadly sins I can talk you into."  
  
She closed her eyes, letting her mind delve fully into the feel of his cool skin caressing her warmth. An innocent touch, really, she knew. His hand on her arm. Nothing more. But the way her body reacted to him screamed of fire and ice, intensity, bodies moving together in the dark- anything but innocence. Opening her eyes, she gazed at him, putting all her feelings for him into the look.  
  
The smoldering flame he saw in her eyes brought a smirk of awareness to his lips. "What?" he said, squeezing her arm deliberately. He danced his fingers over the soft skin, moving towards the pulse at her wrist. "Something you… want?"  
  
Buffy paused a moment to enjoy the anticipation of what she knew was about to happen. There was a tingling in the pit of her stomach, a warm tightening that seemed to grow inside of her. His fingers found her pulse and pressed into it, then ran back up her arm, brushing against the side of her breast as they moved up her shoulder.  
  
Suppressing a gasp at the rush of heat the graze filled her with, she reached out a shaking hand and placed it flat against his chest. She clenched her fingers in his shirt, scratching him through the material. "Something I want," she said, the huskiness of her voice matching her eyes, which felt heavy with desire. So heavy, she closed them and kept them closed. "Aren't you going to kiss me yet?"  
  
She felt him moving over her, closer, lowering his face towards her with movements so gradual, she couldn't stop her fingernails from digging into the skin of his chest. He hesitated, a shudder rippling through his frame. Forcing herself not to rush him, not to rush *them*, she released the tension from her hands and caressed him, urging him to move as he would. Her eyelids pressed together as she dropped all her preternatural senses of him, so conscious she was of letting this happen on his own terms.  
  
There were images floating in the darkness behind her eyelids, crackles of red and green lightening. It had been so long since she'd cut off her extra awareness, but somehow, it felt right. Just a guy, just a girl, she thought, watching the florescent lightening sparkle. This must be what blindness feels like. Only, not blindness. I'm just… normal now.  
  
All she could hear was the sound of her own labored breathing. The lack of sensation began to nibble at her edges, and suddenly the world felt too small, too dark. Before she could open her eyes, the scent of Spike's arousal reached into her, deep inside, easing the momentary panic. Then came the feel of his breath on her lips, so intense it could've been the coldest cold or the hottest heat; he burned her.  
  
"Spike," she whispered into his mouth as it grazed her own, once, twice. "This is…"  
  
"Us," he whispered back. He held her face between his palms, raising it to his. He brushed another kiss over her. "This is us."  
  
Us is softer than I'd thought it would be, Buffy thought, her breath hitching as his lips graced her forehead, her cheekbones. Then she realized, with a sigh of appreciation, the reason behind his gentleness. She raised her hands to draw his face down. His forehead, flat and human, pressed against hers. She opened her eyes and stared into his, so near she could see the flecks of navy that overlaid the lighter blue.  
  
"I want you," she said, dropping her eyes to look at all of him. Her mouth sought out his. Kissing him hard, she said, "You. This is not you. Gentle… nice, yeah, but come on… Show me what you've got, Spike. All of it." She pressed her closed lips flat against him, then opened slightly, flicking her tongue over the line of his mouth, urging him to open for her, to accept. "All of you. Just… be with me. Be with me."  
  
Her words unlocked him. Where he had been hesitant, he was now demanding. He pulled her against him, sudden and hard. Her head fell back as his mouth moved, nibbling at her lips, then soothing them with his tongue. She kissed him back with depth, feeling as if she was falling into him, falling inside of his skin. A moan ripped through her as his hands spanned her hips and drifted upwards, over her ribs, to cup her softness.  
  
"God," she breathed, her hands tearing at his shirt. "Too many clothes. Way too many."  
  
"Wait," he said, stiffening. His hands dropped with obvious reluctance from her breasts. Cocking his head to the side, he frowned. "Someone's here. Listen."  
  
Gritting her teeth, she flopped back onto the pillows. "Look, if you're still not sure you want to love a Slayer, that's one thing. But using stupid excuses like that to…"  
  
"Would you shut it a minute?" he said, putting his hand over her mouth. "You don't know how wrong you are. Did it seem like I didn't want you a minute ago?"  
  
Blush crept into her cheeks. "You could've been…"  
  
"What? Faking?" Rolling his eyes, he grabbed her hand and pressed in against the bulge pressing against his zipper. "Can't fake that, pet. Wasn't even sure I could do that at all. Broken back, remember? It's not you, Slayer. You, I like. Voices in the hallway of our supposedly private hide-out, I don't."  
  
"Listen," she said, the sound hitting her ears. Her eyes widened with alertness. "Those can't be voices. There would have to be hundreds of people out there."  
  
"I'd say you're right, there must be hundreds of people out there. 'Cause those are voices. Speaking… I don't know what. Some kind of… language."  
  
"Isn't that helpful," she said, shooting to her feet. "People, speaking language. Great. Any guesses as to who they are? Or if they're even people? People, most of them can see me. No one here would know me as the Slayer. But demons… they'd sense it right off."  
  
Spike shook his head. "I can't get a feel for them," he said, swinging his dead-weight legs over the side of the bed. "Could be anyone. Or anything."  
  
"One way to find out," Buffy said, moving towards the door. She looked back over her shoulder, and shook her head at Spike. "Stay there. Dragging yourself across the floor will not help me. I don't want to have to worry about tripping over you if whoever's out there wants a fight."  
  
"Tripping over…" He glared at her. "I'm not totally useless, you know."  
  
"Just. Stay. Put."  
  
The door was heavy, made of a dark wood Buffy didn't recognize. Placing one hand flat on the door to steady herself, she turned the knob and slowly opened it a crack, just enough to give her space to peek outside. Voices filled the room as the door opened, moans and screams overlapping fervent conversations in a language foreign to them both.  
  
"Oh… God," Buffy said, slamming the door shut and sagging against it. Her face paled. She swiped a hand over her mouth, closing her eyes. "I think I'm gonna be sick."  
  
"What? What do you see?" Spike rocked slightly on the edge of the bed, the sway of his leaden legs reminding him of his helplessness. Pulling himself back to sit against the headboard, he said, "Slayer? You all right?"  
  
She nodded, swallowing hard. "People. Lots of them. Hundreds. Thousands, maybe. Well, not thousands of people, but… parts. People parts."  
  
"Parts? Of bodies? Pet, parts don't talk."  
  
"These ones do." Rubbing her hands over her face, she kept her back pressed against the door. The last thing she wanted was for the carnage in the hallway to come into the bedroom. "They're naked, and… and headless, all of them. And it gets worse than that."  
  
"Worse than headless? Hard to manage that."  
  
Looking at Spike's crotch meaningfully, she said, "Worse."  
  
"Ah. Um…. okay. And these people and their parts are doing… what?"  
  
Biting her lip, she shrugged. "Wandering around out there. Crying. They don't seem to be going anywhere. They're just sort of… standing around. Waiting, maybe."  
  
"What would they be waiting for?"  
  
"I don't know. Not really big on the caring at this point either. You want to tell me how to get Hugh up here? Is there a phone or something? He lives here. He could maybe tell us if decapitated people stand around in the hallway a lot, or if this is something special just for us."  
  
"A phone? Didn't see one." He looked at the nightstand. "Nope, no phone."  
  
"How did you get him up here when I was unconscious?"  
  
"Like this," he said, covering his ears. "HUGH!"  
  
"HUGH!" Buffy screamed, adding her voice to his to carry the call over the voices of the people in the hallway. "HUGH!"  
  
A knock came on the door under her back, startling her. She shrieked, scuttling across the room in surprise. Pulling herself together, she avoided Spike's laughing eyes. "That's… that should be him."  
  
"How do you know? It could be… one of them."  
  
She shook her head. "Most of them didn't have any hands to knock with." Opening the door, she tried to cover her surprise at the appearance of the creature who rushed inside. The Brownie looked like a cross between a Saint Bernard and a monkey, with a healthy dose of not-natural thrown in. "You're Hugh?"  
  
"Told you it wasn't Grant," Spike drawled, enjoying her discomfit. "Hugh, meet your mistress. This is the Slayer, awake now, as you can see."  
  
Ignoring Spike, Hugh fell to his knees before Buffy. "Mistress, I apologize, a thousand times and again. You must think so poorly of me. The ghosts… they're a bit early this decade, I didn't know they'd arrive before you awoke from your shock."  
  
"Ghosts?" Throwing a hand up to bring Hugh to his feet, Buffy pointed at the closed door. "Those people out there are ghosts?"  
  
"Mayan ghosts," Hugh explained, standing. "This mansion… it was built on the site of the ancient Mayan temple, built by a demon who called himself a shaman. This demon- Lotaxh- sacrificed human beings in an effort to please his master, the god of chaos."  
  
"Which one?" Spike asked from the bed. "Set? Cizin? Kali?"  
  
Shuddering, the Brownie gazed up at Buffy with fear-stained eyes. "I do not speak the name of such a god, not here, not over his own temple."  
  
Darting an evil look at Spike, Buffy patting Hugh's head. "It's okay. Whatever's wrong, I'll take care of it."  
  
Hugh sagged with relief. "Oh, mistress. Slayer. I knew you'd help them. That's why I brought you here. The poor souls need such a one as you to free them."  
  
"Wait. What do you mean, that's why you brought her here?" Spike gave him a narrowed glinting glance. "I thought you wanted to take care of her. Keep her safe."  
  
"Oh, I do, I do. I'm a Brownie, that's…"  
  
"That's what you do," Spike interrupted. "I got that already. But if your idea of helping her is bringing her here to fight your battles, I think your days as a working Brownie are over."  
  
"I did help her, you see? She's awake, healthy, whole… and with you, I can smell that the two of you have been…"  
  
"What!" Buffy cut him off, her tone biting with annoyance. "You can *smell* that we've been making out?" She watched a minute as Hugh sputtered for a response, then waved him off. "Never mind that. We have a hundreds of ghost parts screaming in the hallway. What do you mean, I can free them? Free them from what?"  
  
"The shaman," Hugh said. He walked over to the window and tugged on the shutters, making sure they were tightly shut. "The demon shaman still lives in this jungle. As long as he lives, the ghosts of his victims are trapped between worlds. It is their curse, you see, the poor souls. Doomed to an eternity of nothingness, they materialize every decade on the day of mid-season, searching for a way to kill the shaman and end their torment. Annabella heard them crying only once, bless her soul. She bid me to help them, and so I must. And so, I brought you here to be my hands and good, strong back."  
  
"You want me to search out this shaman guy and kill him?" So much for the whole 'normal girl' thing. Buffy shrugged, thinking of the pieces of people crying for help. One last fight. That's all. Nothing I can't handle. "I can do that."  
  
"He's strong. Tall as well," Hugh said in warning, holding his hand up several inches above his head. "At least this tall."  
  
Buffy looked down at his hand, a foot below her own height. "Umm… won't be a problem, really," she said, fighting back a laugh. "How do I kill micro-shaman?"  
  
Eyeing her uncertainly, Hugh drew a hand over his throat. "Like this. His neck, that's the vulnerable place."  
  
"Do we have weapons?" She scanned the room, then looked at Spike. "A sword would work best."  
  
Pointing, Spike said, "In the closet, there. When do we leave?"  
  
"We? There's no 'we' about this." She retrieved the sword from the closet and swung it in a broad arc, testing its weight. "There's me, who goes and kills the shaman, and there's you, who stays here and recuperates. Forget the 'we'."  
  
Ignoring Buffy's words as predictable, Spike looked at Hugh. "You don't want her going out in that jungle alone, mate. Demons aside, there are also dangerous animals… snakes, wild cats, and the like."  
  
"Oh yeah, like I can't take care of myself." The sword hissed through the air as she spun with it, brandishing it within inches of Spike's head. "Wimpy ole Buffy, that's what they call me. How would you fight off an attacking animal? Scowl at it real hard? Scare it off with the glare of your fangs? I don't think so."  
  
Hugh looked back and forth between Buffy and Spike, unsure of who to obey. "He could be a help to you, mistress. You've no knowledge of the paths through this jungle. The vampire has been down the main path; he could show you the way."  
  
"Why don't you show me? Not like you've got a hopping social schedule. No hot dates planned tonight, right?"  
  
Shuddering, Hugh cast a frightened glace towards the window. "No, mistress. That demon is something I stay far away from."  
  
"Get my cart," Spike said, hefting his legs over the side of the bed. "I'll ride along. Slayer can build herself some arm muscles and push me."  
  
"My arms are just fine the way they are," Buffy said, hefting the sword back towards his head. "See? Strong enough to cut through your neck if you don't quit acting like a big baby. You know that if I take you along, I'll be worrying about protecting you. I need to focus on the slaying, not on the protecting of the defenseless vampire."  
  
Growling, Spike said, "Come a step closer and call me defenseless, Slayer. I'd love to show you just how wrong you are."  
  
Buffy flashed him a grin. "Later on, I'll hold you to that threat. Right now, I've got a demon to decapitate. Hugh?"  
  
"You don't want me to aid your search." Hugh shook his head furiously. "If you bid it, I must, but mistress…"  
  
"Just point me down the right path. I'll take it from there. Demons, especially magickey demons, sorta tend to prick at my Slayer senses. Shouldn't be a problem to hunt him down." Pointing at Spike with the sword, she narrowed her eyes. "Put me on the path, then come back up here and guard Mr. Pouty here. Paralyzed or not, he's big with the stubbornness. I wouldn't put it past him to crawl through the jungle on his elbows, just to prove me wrong."  
  
"Wouldn't crawl," Spike muttered, his face a portrait of frustration. "Wouldn't have to if you'd just…"  
  
"Shut up," Buffy said. She placed her hand on the doorknob. "I have to run through these ghosts. Apparitions or not, they look real. Something about them being headless and… other-parts-less makes me not want to linger and say hello. You coming, Hugh?"  
  
"Stay where the Slayer placed you," Hugh said to Spike. He took his place at Buffy's side, ready to rush past the ghosts.  
  
"The *Slayer* didn't place me anywhere, you ponce," Spike said, reddening with annoyance. "I'm a free agent, no matter what sort of scent you picked up between us. If I decide to spend the night lounging about in bed, well, then, that's my choice."  
  
"And if you decide to crawl out of this house, we'll just see how many choices you get after I beat you into a pulp." Buffy smiled to soften the words, but her eyes read serious. "I'll see you soon."  
  
"Fine," Spike said, watching them go. The door slammed shut on the Mayan voices in the hallway, the thud reverberating through his body with finality. "I'll just… be here."  
  
  
  
***  
  
Killing the small shaman was as easy as Buffy had expected. After cleaning the blood from her hands, she walked up the hallway towards the bedroom, delighted to find it empty of ghosts. Entering the room, she smiled at Spike, who was sitting up in bed, reading.  
  
"How long has the ghoulish gang been gone?" she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. She pulled off her shoes and climbed up to sit next to him.  
  
"The screams and such died off about twenty minutes ago." He closed his novel and placed it on the nightstand. Examining her with his eyes, his lips twisted with enigmatic emotion. "Took care of the demon?"  
  
Buffy nodded, reading the stiffness of his face and adjusting her demeanor accordingly. "He's dead." She reached out and traced a line down the back of his hand with her finger. "You okay?"  
  
"Fine, for a defenseless invalid," Spike said, his eyes flashing with indigence. "If you think I'm such a weakling, why are you here with me? Touching me? Or do you just like being the one with the power?"  
  
"Hey," Buffy said, tension riding the word. "I do *not* think you're a weakling. You're hurt, you idiot. But you'll heal. I know you will, I've seen it happen already."  
  
"By that time, there'll be no demons left to fight," he said petulantly.  
  
"That's what this is about? You want a good fight?" She couldn't keep the amusement from her voice. "No problem. There's plenty around here to do. First, you and I can spar, once you're back on your feet. And there's hunting. How are we supposed to eat if I can't hunt and neither can Hugh? We'll need you to get us meat."  
  
"Hunting," Spike said, rolling the word around his tongue as if trying it on. "Suppose I could give that a try."  
  
"You'll need a good source of blood. Hugh can't keep buying it from the locals, not without raising suspicion anyway. So, go hunt some jungle pigs. They're out there, Hugh showed me their tracks."  
  
"Pigs and sparring. Please, help me contain my excitement."  
  
"The sparring is important. Another two years, and we'll have to head back up to Sunnydale. If we k…" She swallowed hard, then continued, "If we kill Ben, then Glory won't kill the other me. But Ben's not a little guy. He can take care of himself. We have to keep up our skills, especially knowing he could turn into Glory at any moment."  
  
Looking at her closely, Spike said, "You think you can do that? Kill a human?"  
  
Buffy took a deep breath. No. I can't kill Ben. I *like* Ben. But… She stiffened her chin with resolve. "I guess we'll find out, won't we?"  
  
"Or I can do it," Spike said, nodding in understanding. "One way or another, you- the other you- won't have a hellgod to worry about."  
  
"Let's cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now, we can enjoy just being us." His hand felt cold beneath hers. She clasped it between her palms, lending him her body heat. "Forget about titles and callings and inclinations and just… just *be*."  
  
His eyes caught hers, deep blue pools of emotion that assessed her boldly, merciless. He drew her into him with that gaze, as though he was examining her soul and taking his time with the judgment. With reckless courage, she moved up his body, and kissed him. Not a passionate kiss; not even a friendly kiss. Just a press of lips against colder lips. When she moved away, it was only a hairsbreadth.  
  
"Can you do that?" she whispered, her mouth grazing his as she spoke.  
  
He pulled her roughly, almost violently against him. Grabbing his shoulders, she buried her face in his neck, inhaling the kaleidoscope of scents that had belonged to every version of him she'd ever known. Leather and cigarettes, bourbon, and an underlying tang so elemental, she knew it only as his very essence.  
  
"Good answer," she said, inhaling gingerly so as to not discourage his arms from squeezing around her. "Great, even. But… words please?"  
  
Tipping her head back to face him, his eyes softened like a kiss even as they burned her with their intensity. Seeing his face, she had every answer to every question she could ever think to ask him. But she had to hear him say it. "Spike?"  
  
Words so honest they seemed painful rumbled against her as he pulled her to his chest. "I can't *not* do that," he said, and to Buffy's surprise, he sounded full of joy. 


	9. The Keeper of Truth Chapter 9

The Keeper of Truth  
  
Chapter 9  
  
Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.  
  
Rating: R for now. Maybe more later.  
  
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, email me.  
  
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com  
  
Author's Note: Due to the fact that for some reason, I can't post italics on ff.net, thoughts are put into brackets like these. I also used them to separate out a dream sequence.  
  
For Sass. Because you inspire me more than you know. Thanks!  
  
  
  
  
  
*****  
  
Two Years Later  
  
The Mexican jungle  
  
  
  
  
  
The bed sheets twisted around Buffy's body, constricting her as she tossed and rolled. Beneath the heft of blond hair that spread over it, her face was wrinkled with fear, her eyes squeezed shut in sleep. A moan rolled out from between her lips, low and long and gut wrenching, taking the form of a name as it went. "Dawn."  
  
  
  
The tower shook beneath her feet as she raced upwards, towards the platform where her sister was tied. Helpless. In terrible danger. "Dawn!" she screamed, throwing her body up the steps. The fear growing inside of her propelled her and kept her focused, kept her feet so precise, she could not trip. She had to make it there, before… and then she was there.  
  
"Dawn!" she screamed again, her eyes widening. Horror gripped her with a freezing fist. She could not move as she stood at the top of the steps, watching the two figures at the other end of the platform. Her sister, brown hair waving in the wind, bent limply over a figure. A figure in black, who clutched her against him. A familiar figure, whose duster had been cast off, whose shirt stuck wetly to his body. "Spike!"  
  
When he turned, Buffy took a step back. "Spike?" she whispered, narrowing her eyes. A terrible calm seized her as she took in his crouching stance, his vampire ridges and fangs, and most of all- most of all- Dawn's blood. The thick redness dripped from his chin, adding to the mess that covered his shirt and hands.  
  
I won't look, Buffy told herself, but betrayed the thought in the next second. Her eyes were drawn without mercy to the sight of her sister's body, gutted and hanging from the ropes that bound her. Even Dawn's face- her beautiful face, a voice deep inside her mourned- was cut to disfigurement and shrouded with blood. Taking a breath, Buffy closed her eyes. Close your eyes. The end of your world is here. You're in hell. Close your eyes.  
  
The last thing she felt was Spike's body hurling into hers. She screamed…  
  
  
  
Screaming, Buffy sat up in bed, her arms waving with remembered distress. "Oh… oh god," she said, choking back tears. Feeling the bed beside her, her heart sank to find him gone. "Spike. It's time."  
  
Suddenly, the door flung open and banged against the wall. She jumped, pulling the blanket over herself as Hugh ran in, wild-eyed and frantic. "Hugh," she whispered, calming herself. "It's okay, it's just Hugh."  
  
"Milady, are you injured?" he says, rushing to her bedside. "I could go find the vampire?"  
  
"It's just a dream, Hugh," she said, sitting up and slipping her feet into her slippers. "A nightmare."  
  
"A Slayer dream? Did you see the future?" He looked nauseated at the thought which, considering Buffy's reaction to the dream, was fitting. "Is there danger ahead?"  
  
"No, not a Slayer dream. Just your regular, ole doozy of a nightmare." Shuddering, she rubbed her arms, cold in the oppressive heat of the jungle. "Danger… there's always danger. We've known for a long time that we'd eventually have to face the life I left behind in Sunnydale. The dream was just telling me that… that time's up." And that there's danger, but let's not freak Hugh out any more than he already is.  
  
Visibly relieved, Hugh, patted her arm. Going to the dresser, he opened a drawer and dug through her clothes until he came up with a warm cardigan. "Here, Mistress. Warm yourself. I will fetch your vampire."  
  
"No, you don't have to. I know you don't like it outside after dark, even with all the lanterns lit. But… where is Spike?"  
  
With a barking laugh, Hugh pointed out the window. "Trapping the pig."  
  
Even though shaken, she had to smile. "Porky's back, huh?"  
  
"Oh, yes. The vampire came tearing through an hour ago, ranting on about his trap being broken again."  
  
"Again?" Slipping the shirt over her tank top with shaking hands, Buffy stood. "That's the third trap this week. Porky's smart for a jungle pig."  
  
"The vampire says the pig will die before dawn." Hugh's face, wrinkled and brown, was alit with humor. "I say, the vampire will be back before dawn, pigless and in a mood so foul, I think I may leave for the village for the day."  
  
"Good plan," Buffy said. Waving her hand at him, she said, "Now, out with you. I've got to finish getting dressed."  
  
"You're going after the vampire? I don't believe he'll appreciate the assistance. He seems to hang his manhood on this pig's beating heart."  
  
"Hugh," Buffy said, her voice an equal mix of warning and laughter. "Picking on Spike is a fun time, believe me I know, but…"  
  
Rolling his eyes, Hugh shuffled towards the door. "He's taken the north path, Mistress. Finding him should be simple for you, not to worry."  
  
"Thank you, Hugh," Buffy said, giving him a smile that fell the moment the Brownie closed the door. Going to the vanity table, she grabbed a brush and pulled her hair back into a hasty ponytail. "Not to worry," she echoed. Giving herself a long look in the mirror, she shook her head, watching the heavy tail swing back and forth behind her. "Not to worry. As if finding him was the tough part."  
  
  
  
*****  
  
She followed the north path through the jungle, lighting the string of lanterns that hung from the tree branches as she went. Red mud squished beneath her boots, thick and gooey. Making her way carefully towards the clearing, she focused hard on keeping her footing. When she found the broken trap, it was all she could do not to turn around and head back to the house, to pretend her dream had never happened. And when she found the orchid Spike had left for her on the wooden platform the trap had been built on, she did turn around. She made it ten steps up the path before her cowardice shamed her into turning back. Be strong, Slayer. Just because he picks my favorite flower doesn't mean I can protect him from this.  
  
After clearing the wooden shards from the platform, she laid down on her back and looked up at the stars, holding the flower's stem between her hands like a fragrant talisman. Take your time, Spike, she thought, sending the words out into the blackness of the night sky towards his ears. Enjoy your last moments of being just yourself. Your last moments of simplicity, before we have to go and mess things up again.  
  
A tiny, sensible voice in the back of her head told her that they'd only be gone for a little while. They'd come back and their home would still be here. But it took us so long to *get* here, Buffy countered. To be able to see each other as Buffy and Spike, leaving all the titles and baggage behind. Going back will change everything. We'll have to earn all this… this comfort, this peace… earn it all again.  
  
And it had been peaceful and comfortable, the past two years. They'd fought, of course. The memory brought a twisted smile to her lips. Fighting was as much a part of their relationship- of their dance- as making love. In her mind's eye, she could see his lips curved in sarcasm as readily as love, but the love was always there, softening both their edges.  
  
When we go back, it'll change us. Change this. Change everything. If it doesn't kill us. The stars blinked above her, adorning a sky so wide and open, Buffy felt like it could swallow her. A stray thought crossed her mind quickly maybe I want it to swallow me, but she pushed the notion away. You are still the Slayer, on hiatus or not. This is still your job, no matter how terrible it makes you feel. Groaning, she threw an arm over her eyes and let out a loud, sputtering sigh. "I'm an idiot," she groaned, annoyed with the swirl of feelings inside of her.  
  
"Not as big of one as Porky," Spike called.  
  
Buffy opened her eyes and sat up. She watched him walk slowly up the path, a large lump slung over his shoulder revealed, as he came into the spread of the lantern's light, as Porky. She squinted, wondering why his clothes looked so oddly flat, then smiled as she realized he was naked and covered in a thick layer of red mud.  
  
He grinned at her as he approached; she could see the light of the moon glinting off his teeth even with the distance between them. Naked, covered in mud and blood, he looks so happy that Buffy wished again that they could put off the conversation she'd come here to have with him. No wimping out, she told herself, wincing as she noticed the way his smile widened as he reached the clearing and saw his flower in her hands.  
  
Two weeks, Buffy thought, feeling the welling of tears in her eyes. She blinked them back, squaring her jaw for courage. He looks so happy. We both are so happy, but it'll only take two weeks, then we'll be back.  
  
"Bring me anything?" he said, quickening his pace up under the heaviness of the pig.  
  
Buffy stood and pulled his skinning knife out of her belt. "You forgot this," she said as he got to the platform. Wrinkling her nose, she tossed it down, impaling it in the dirt. "You left it on the kitchen table again, oh sanitary one."  
  
He shook his head once, sharply, looking at his knife in the mud. "Now I've got to wash it."  
  
"Oh, of course. Because you wouldn't want to dirty the pig." Pointing at it, she kicked the broken trap. "I see you finally got revenge on Porky. Only took three traps to bring him down."  
  
Spike flung the pig's heavy carcass on the ground at Buffy's feet. "As they say, third try's the charm. That, and the spear."  
  
"Guess so." Tipping the flower at him, she smiled. "Thanks for the orchid. They're my favorite."  
  
"As you tell me every day when I bring you them," he said with a smile that warmed her down to her bones. Then the smile twisted upwards with mischief. He came towards her, muddy hands outstretched. "Come here, Slayer."  
  
Shrieking, she jumped back as he tried to embrace her. "Get away, you're filthy! Hugh just washed this shirt, and you know it!"  
  
"No problems there, love," he said, taking hold of her shoulders. Mud from his hands, red and warm, slid under the neck of her shirt and down her back. "We'll just take it off."  
  
He went to strip it from her, but she beat him to the buttons, undoing them quickly before he could tear them apart. "I've learned a thing or two in the last couple years," she said, shrugging out of the shirt and tossing it onto the pile of his clothes. "Like, that you and buttons are not mixy."  
  
"Too slow," he agreed, the anticipation on his face shadowed by the gloom of night where the lanterns failed. "Especially when I know there's skin like that underneath, just waiting for my touch."  
  
Naked, she held him off with a look. "My turn to play," she said, her voice a throaty whisper. "You got to last time."  
  
He nodded, unable to move words around the lump that rose in his throat as she trailed her fingernail over the flat muscles of his chest, making a line in the mud that headed towards his nipple. It puckered under her touch, encouraging her to bring the other hand up. She placed it flat over his other nipple, enjoying the warmth of the mud between her skin and his. "Lots of possibilities here," she said, rubbing slow circles in the slippery stickiness, digging underneath the mud for the feel of his skin. "I finally see the appeal of all those mud wrestling shows Xander was into."  
  
She trailed her hands around the back of his ribs, pulling him to her. Rubbing her body up the front of his, she raised herself on tip-toe, bringing her mouth to brush over his. Breathing into him, she balanced her body by leaning fully against him and brought her hands up to slid into his hair, mussing it, pulling him closer to her, ever closer.  
  
When she kissed him, she tasted salt, fused with the sweet tang that was pure Spike. Against her lips, his mouth felt cool and yielding. The smell of mud, earthy and elemental, combined with the scent of their arousal. Their limbs entwined with precision born of years full of practice.  
  
"I love you," she said, wanting to hearten them both, but the words came out burdened with sadness. Suck it up, she told herself. You have to tell him.  
  
Opening her mouth, she searched for the words to tell him, but in her reluctance couldn't find them. Coward. Big fraidy-cat. Some Slayer you are. Tracing her fingers over his face, she stroked the line of his neck and down further, to the notch in the center of his collarbone and outward, over his shoulders. Gripping his upper arms in her hands, she turned her face up to his, closing her eyes. Hear me, she willed at him, her chest tightening. Know what's going on without me having to say the words. Then make love to me, here in the mud so we don't have to talk about it now. Let's be just us, for another hour at least, before real life comes rushing back.  
  
Dropping his forehead against hers as he felt her hands run down his back, over the tautness of his backside and curve around to the front, he groaned, aching for more of her, always more. But the feel of her tense muscles under his hands combined with the sound of her voice told him that she needed something different.  
  
"You're my world," he said, opening his eyes and staring into hers, so close their eyelashes brushed. "My bloody world. Now, tell me what's worrying you."  
  
Sagging against him, she exhaled heavily. So much for pretenses. "Thanks a lot," she said. "I'm trying to stall, here. That thing about procrastination getting you no where? So not true."  
  
"Right, Slayer," he said, wrapping her in his embrace. "Because it's getting you so far with me. You going to tell me what's wrong, or keep playing games?"  
  
"No games. You need to know. It's just…" she stepped back from him, needing to pace. The mud squished between her toes as she moved around the broken trap, undaunted by her nakedness. Throwing up her hands with helplessness, she gave Spike a level look. "It's time."  
  
"Time for what?" he asked, but he knew what she was talking about before the words had passed his lips. Something tightened inside his chest, making him inhale quickly. "You're sure?"  
  
She nodded once. "I had a dream. We leave in the morning." Picking up his pants, she tossed them to him. "Put these one. Spare Hugh the sight of your… you know."  
  
When he didn't retort with 'I thought you liked my 'you-know', when he only stood silently, the pants hanging from his hands, Buffy knew that he was as dismayed by the thought of returning to Sunnydale as she was. "Spike?" she said, pulling her jeans over her muddy legs. "Put your pants on."  
  
"Hugh's taking care of the train tickets and what-not?" The words, flat and casual, rolled out of him, taking no thought, bearing no impression of the emotions that were making his stomach churn. "Is he coming along with us?"  
  
"He's staying here. I told him to." Buttoning her shirt, she moved back to Spike's side, bringing him the rest of his clothes. "We won't need him there. It's only for two weeks. He'll be better off here, keeping the house ready for us to come home to."  
  
"It might be okay," he said, but the lines of tension blossoming on his brow betrayed him. Rubbing his hands over his face, he knocked some of the drying mud off. "You haven't had a Slayer dream about going back for at least a month. Maybe that means everything'll turn out fine."  
  
"Or maybe that just means that my Slayer dreams aren't super reliable. Because they aren't. It's not like they haven't confused me in the past. It was a regular nightmare I had tonight. Just your regular, run of the mill, demon-eating-my-sister kinda dream, but I know it was a sign."  
  
Spike frowned. "Something's going to eat your sister?"  
  
"No. Like I said, it wasn't a Slayer dream. It wasn't prophetic kinda thing, just…" She broke off, shuddering. Pulling her arms around herself, she said, "Just really freaky. I can't get it out of my head. It was a sign, telling me that it's time to go back. And that going back is dangerous."  
  
"Doesn't matter much, pet. Dangerous or not, we have to go back. If Glory doesn't die, the other you will. We have to kill her. End of story."  
  
"You make it sound so easy." Sighing, she pushed a hand through her hair. "I won't be able to go into town. The timeline… it's too risky. You'll have to go."  
  
"So I will, then. Not a problem. I'll take care of it. You could even stay here. Kick back with Hugh. Keep our bed warm."  
  
"Yeah, sure. I'll just send you back there to do my dirty work while I'm sitting in the sun, sipping a martini." She glared at him. "You could die. You're not exactly Mr. Popular in Sunnydale. What if I … the other me… catches you killing Ben? I'd be sitting down here, waiting for you, and all the time you'd be a pile of dust in Sunnydale, dead after getting in the way of my stake. The other me's stake. She'd kill you on sight."  
  
"I can handle myself, Slayer."  
  
"I know that," she said, touching his arm. "I do."  
  
"But you're still scared."  
  
"Of course I am. You're my… well, I love you. Being scared for you when you're going up against a hellgod in the Slayer's backyard goes with the whole 'I love you' package."  
  
"You told me yourself that Glory's too weak to come out and attack me. And Ben's just a human. Weak."  
  
She dropped her eyes, acquiescing his point, then raised them and met his with determination. "There are other things that could go wrong."  
  
"Drusilla? I'm sure she's long since left town."  
  
"Not just her. There's… you. You haven't killed a human in years."  
  
"And you're worried that this'll bring back my taste for it?" He touched her hair, stroking over it with his palm. "I'd have to be a crazy fool to give up what we have here, Buffy. I'm a lot of things, but not crazy. And I'm only a fool when you look at me like that."  
  
"Like what?" she said, her lips parting as he ran his thumb over them.  
  
"Your eyes all big and shiny… your mouth open for me to kiss… Like you're thinking the whole world could go to hell, and you'd still want to stay here in the jungle with me, world be damned."  
  
"That… pretty much sums it up," she whispered as he bent and kissed her once, gently. "It's not like I think you'll turn all demoney again. But… don't you ever miss it? Your old life?"  
  
"Not much to miss there. Being Angelus's punching bag didn't hold much appeal."  
  
An uncertainty crept into her expression. "Do you ever miss Drusilla?"  
  
He hesitated a second, his hands growing still on her hair. Then, tipping her chin up to make her hold his gaze, he said, "Yeah, sometimes. Her fecklessness. But I don't miss who I was when I was with her. Here…" He looked up at the jungle canopy, illuminated with the lights of the lanterns, then back at Buffy. Bending down, he snatched the orchid from the ground and tucked it behind her ear. His fingers stroked the petals, brushing her skin. "It's better here. With you."  
  
Turning her face into his hand, she exhaled heavily, releasing the tension from her body in a breath that heated his skin. "I wish I could just snap my fingers and have this all over with. A big, magic poof, and suddenly it's two weeks later and we're home again."  
  
"Things will be fine, pet. You'll see. We'll be back here, together, in no time." Giving her a final kiss, he pointed to the pig. "You want to feel sorry for someone, stick around. Porky there is about to become breakfast meat."  
  
She watched him pick up the knife and tuck it into his belt, watched the muscles of his back shift beneath the thin material of his shirt as he lift the pig and heaved it onto the broken trap, out of the mud. "You're sure? About Ben? You can do this?"  
  
"Killing a human won't call my demon back to play, Slayer. We've got no worries. It'll be easy as pie." He sliced the knife into the pig, pulling at the thick hide. Blood dripped over the ground, over his knees, staining his pants and shirt. "Bugger. Never should've gotten dressed." He stood and unbuttoned his shirt. "Slayer, you mind taking these back to the house when you go?"  
  
She stood over him, still as a statue, her mind working way too fast as she tried to tell herself the blood on his hands belonged to the pig, that it wasn't foreshadowing of any kind. But her dream came back to her, slamming her with images of William the Bloody feasting on her little sister's blood. When she saw his shirt fall from his shoulders, bile raised inside of her. Too much like the dream… I can't see this. This is bad. Without a word, she turned and ran for the house.  
  
"Buffy? My clothes?" He searched the shadows on the clearing, but couldn't find her. "Buffy?" Leaving the pig where it lay, Spike started back to the house after her. To hell with Porky. To hell with this whole sodding place. We don't need it to be happy, Buffy and I. We'll be fine, out there in the world together. Just bloody fine. As he trudged through the mud, he smirked, irritated with himself. Almost managed to convince myself that time. Now I've just got to convince her. 


	10. The Keeper of Truth Chapter 10

The Keeper of Truth  
  
Chapter 10  
  
Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, email me.  
  
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com  
  
Author's Note: Due to the fact that for some reason, I can't post italics on ff.net, thoughts are put into brackets like these.  
  
This chapter gets kind of dark. It includes self-mutilation and suicide attempts are mentioned. Just a warning- if you're sensitive to those things, you may want to skip this.  
  
  
  
  
  
*****  
  
California  
  
October, 2000  
  
  
  
Pacing is highly underrated, Buffy thought as she walked the narrow room.  
  
Beneath her feet, the carpet squished wetly, making her wince with disgust. She spoke out loud as she paced, counting her steps.  
  
"One, two, three, four, hit wall, turn, repeat." The motel room was closet sized and smelled of stale sweat, old sex, and carpet cleaning solution. She hadn't expected any better from the look of the dilapidated building, or from its location. Luxury hotels didn't exactly flourish on the outskirts of Sunnydale. Who'd want to vacation on the Hellmouth's suburb? Expecting a hovel or not, the roaches that scurried for cover when Buffy opened the bathroom door made her wish she'd chanced being recognized and gone with Spike into town.  
  
"Of course, it doesn't help that he's…" she checked her watch, "over an hour late. He knows I'm sitting here, freaking out with worry, and does he even call?"  
  
She kept pacing, taking comfort in the soothing rhythm of her steps. The knot of worry that had formed when Spike left to kill Ben had grown into a full-fledged tangle of fears and anxiety. Trying to calm herself, she kept talking.  
  
"I should've stayed home with Hugh. Let Spike do all the work. Why not? It's not like I'm such a huge help, staying here. Pacing like a freak…. talking to myself… oh yeah, definitely should've stayed home."  
  
Or maybe we both should've stayed, she thought, her shoulders slumping. The other Buffy… she could've had some peace. Death isn't so bad… it's… A shudder tore through her as her mind filled with the image of Spike from her nightmare. Monster-faced, growling, and the blood… Dawn's blood, all over his hands.  
  
"Shush, Buffy," she told herself, not wanting to think about death, good or bad. "Think about the jungle, about good, alive things. Hugh, cooking breakfast, wearing his pink apron. Spike, naked, covered in mud. Alive equals good."  
  
She whipped around as the door to the motel room opened suddenly. Spike rushed in, shutting it behind him. He leaned his forehead against the door, breathing heavily.  
  
"Hey!" she said, moving towards him. "You're okay?"  
  
He nodded, and slowly turned to face her, but did not meet her eyes. Tensing his jaw, he said, "Ben was an easy kill."  
  
Because he was trusting. He was… he was decent, she thought, but forced herself to harden her heart. "Glory's taken care of. We can go home now." She held out her hands for his, but instead of taking them, he brushed past her into the room towards the kitchenette. "What's with the bad mood?"  
  
The tiny refrigerator shook as he slammed it shut, a mug of blood in his hands. Patting his jeans pocket, he pulled out a tiny flask and spiked the blood before downing the entire cup in three desperate gulps.  
  
"Spike? What happened? You… you're an hour late. We said we'd meet at eight o'clock. I was scared."  
  
Tossing the mug aside, he swept towards her. Without a word, he gathered her in his arms, holding her face against his neck with one hand around the back of her head. "Buffy," he said, the word mumbled into her hair. "God."  
  
Rubbing her mouth across the breadth of his collarbone, she breathed in his scent. "You are okay, right?"  
  
He nodded, hugging her closer.  
  
"It went down all right? With Ben… Glory's really taken care of?"  
  
Nodding again, he buried his hands in her hair, kneading her scalp.  
  
"What is it you're not wanting to tell me? What's wrong?"  
  
Taking her shoulders in his hands, he pressed her down to sit on the edge of the bed. "Pet…" Biting his lip, he lowered himself to the mattress beside her. "Well… it's not… it's not simple, you see…"  
  
Color rose in her cheeks, contrasting the paling of the rest of her face. Her eyes widened, then narrowed as she glared at him. "Tell me. It can't be that bad. Whatever's wrong, it's just couldn't be that bad. Tomorrow morning, we'll be on a train back to the jungle."  
  
"Well, love… well, no, we won't be heading home tomorrow."  
  
She grabbed his hands, squeezing them. "What? Don't say that. We're going home. I have our tickets, our bags are packed..."  
  
"No. You won't want to after I tell you… See, I'm late because I had to scope something out… a gut feeling of mine. Things… in town, I mean, they just felt… off. The streets were full of road pirates, demons on motorcycles. They tend to show up when a town is wide open for the taking. I went to the Bronze… it was demon central. No humans to speak of, just pirates and vamps and the like. I poked around a bit, asked a few questions." Looking down at her hands, he hesitated. "They told me the Slayer hasn't been seen out of her house for over a year. Not since… not since your… I mean, her mother died."  
  
"Huh? No." Tossing off Spike's comforting hands, Buffy jumped to her feet. "No, my mom didn't die then. It was later… it wouldn't have happened yet." Realization washed over her, making her sink back down onto the bed. "Oh God," she whispered, staring at Spike. "You think that I did this? That my being here screwed things up?"  
  
"Unless your future included total chaos in the streets?" His voice sounded almost hopeful. "I… I'm sorry, love. Didn't want to tell you this. But… it's bad out there. Those road pirates… they're nasty blokes. Smash and burn, that's their way. They eat up whole towns and spit them out before moving on. Not safe for humans, not even safe for lesser demons."  
  
"But… but we tried so hard to… we were so careful not to let anyone see me. Two years in the jungle, in the middle of nowhere…saying goodbye to my whole life… and for what?"  
  
Stricken, he flinched as though she'd slapped him. "What for?" He took her shoulders in his hands and drew her towards him, pressing his forehead against hers. "For this, Buffy."  
  
She exhaled heavily, staring into his eyes with tearful intensity. "Spike…"  
  
"For our life. Yeah, the life in the jungle, in the middle of nowhere. Weren't you happy there, with me? I know the Brownie is a bit of a poofter, but you two get on okay. And you have your garden… and… well, me." He shook her once, forcefully. "You *were* happy."  
  
She closed her eyes, hiding the shining tears that filled them. Dropping her cheek onto his shoulder, she nodded. "That's what makes it so terrible. Don't you understand? All the time I was down there, happy, with you… all that time, I'd left this huge mess behind. I caused all this pain, and all that time, I was happy."  
  
Stroking her hair, he said, "So was I. First time in my whole sorry existence, I had something good and clean. I wish we'd never come back here, never found this. Be better that you'd never known."  
  
She considered this, his words an enticing hum in her mind, but knew the truth. "I could've lived out my whole life there in the jungle. I could've been happy forever there, with you. But knowing this… I can't just pretend it's not true."  
  
"We're going into town, then?"  
  
Standing, she straightened her shirt and finger-combed her hair, forcing calm into her body with the familiar rituals. "Yeah. Carefully, but yeah. The demons you talked to could've been wrong about Mom. I don't want to mess things up any more than I already have, but I need to see what happened, what exactly it was I did to mess up the timeline. Maybe I can still fix it."  
  
Off his skeptical look, she bit down on her lip. "Somehow. Or… or at least, I can take care of those demons. Kill them off and give the other Buffy some slack to work with."  
  
Pulling a packet from his pocket, Spike lit a cigarette. The flame from the lighter made his eyes glow briefly. Regarding Buffy with a squint, he flicked ashes on the floor. "You should be prepared for a shock. They say she's a shut-in. A total nutcase. Too pathetic to even kill."  
  
She took a quick, sharp breath, but steeled herself. Squaring her shoulders, she opened the door to the motel. "Then we'll go to her."  
  
  
  
  
  
*****  
  
Sunnydale  
  
October, 2000  
  
  
  
"Umm… hello?" Willow said, swinging open the door to the Summers' home. She poked her head inside, following it with her body only when she was certain she was alone in the darkness. The house smelled stale, the air tasted stagnant and dusty, and the wall felt sticky as Willow ran her palm over it, searching for the light switch.  
  
"Lights," Willow whispered, blinking as her eyes adjusted, and blinking again when she saw the mess that was the entry way. Clothes and dirty dishes covered the floor, unopened newspapers were stacked on the stairs, and a large pile of unopened mail leaned precariously against the doorway to the dining room.  
  
Brushing her hands off on her jeans, Willow wandered into the living room, her pace tentative, searching. "Buffy?" she called, ignoring the mess. The room was unoccupied, so she moved to the kitchen, and then, finding it empty, to the upstairs.  
  
After looking through all of the bedrooms, it became obvious that Buffy was not home. She sank onto the stairs, confused and slightly afraid. "No Buffy here. No Dawn here- no Dawn's bedroom either. Just the guest room. But duh, 'cause Dawn never existed in this reality. And she won't, either, because the monks didn't make her yet… not for another few weeks. No Joyce, but all her stuff is still here. So she's okay… probably just at work."  
  
So, now what? she thought, dropping her head into her hands. The Magic Box, maybe, but going outside again… She shuddered at the thought. Dodging motorcycle demons, buildings on fire, and rampaging vampires roaming the town like they own it… not the most funnest thing ever.  
  
"But I have to find Buffy. Once I do, none of this will count. I'll find her and then we'll fix everything." Her words in the darkness of the stairwell sounded hollow, so she cleared her throat and tried again, resolutely narrowing her lips. "Off to the Magic Box I go."  
  
  
  
  
  
*****  
  
"It's dark. Maybe there's no one home," Buffy said, striding up the porch steps to the front door. She paused, her hand on the doorknob. "You coming?"  
  
"I should go in first. She sees me, she'll just stake me. Seeing you might give her an apoplexy."  
  
"A stroke. No one calls them apo…whatever, anymore." Stepping back, she scanned the front of the house, craning her neck for a peek in the living room window. "I don't see anyone. They've probably all gone out."  
  
"Slayer's a shut-in, they said. And with these road pirates getting their jollies on in town, I don't guess your mum and sis would be out and about, especially not after dark."  
  
"They're not here, though. Mom and Dawn. I'd sense them."  
  
"You can do that?" He raised an eyebrow. "Thought you could only sense my kind. Your little back-of-the-neck tinglies."  
  
"A different kind of sense. The feeling… awareness, maybe that's a better word… for someone you love, when they're close to you."  
  
Grabbing her hand, Spike pulled her up against his body, trapping her there with a long arm around her waist. "This kind of… feeling?"  
  
She leaned into him for a moment, stroking her hands over his shoulder blades. "Not really, but this is okay too." The muscles beneath her cheek tightened as he chuckled. "What's funny?"  
  
"This," he said, kissing her forehead and releasing her. "This doesn't strike you as a bit comical? Me, a vampire, snogging with the Slayer on her mum's front porch?"  
  
"Don't call me that." She scowled at him, her mouth twisting. "What, we're back in Sunnydale so suddenly it's me, Slayer, you, vamp? I don't think so."  
  
"Not even close to what I meant, Buff, and you know it." He moved towards her so quickly, she took an involuntary step back. Taking her face between his hands, he brushed his lips against hers. "You're nervous. I can see it. But don't twist my words up. You know who you are to me."  
  
"Who?" She breathed the word across his mouth, warming it. "Who am I?"  
  
Rubbing his thumbs over her cheekbones, he grinned. "You're everything alive inside of me, don't you know that? And right now, you're also the chit who's going to quit with the stalling and go inside your house. Invite me in, already, love. Go on."  
  
Her mouth nipped at his, closing off his words with their movements. Winding her fingers through his hair, she ran her tongue over his teeth, then tangled it with his own. She kissed him as if she could enter him that way, as if she could send her soul inside of his body and live there forever.  
  
Finally, she broke away, panting. "Spike…"  
  
He shook his head. "No going back now."  
  
"No, I… I just wanted to say… we'll go home tomorrow. No matter what we find inside the house, tomorrow we'll be on that train, headed back to the jungle."  
  
Looking into the opaqueness of the living room window, Spike's lips tightened. "Right, then. Tomorrow. But for now…"  
  
"Come in, Spike," Buffy said, turning the door knob and walking inside.  
  
"Dark," he whispered, following her. He shut the door behind them, and moved slowly into the dining room. Tilting his head, he scented the air. "Umm… Buff… there's blood in the air. Fresh. Human." With another sniff, he pointed into the living room. "It's coming from there. Someone's in there, bleeding."  
  
She rushed into the room, Spike trailing behind her. "Hello?" she called into the shadows. She groped the wall, searching for the light switch. "Who's there?"  
  
"Leave it off," said a gravelly voice. "Like the darkness better." Someone scuttled, crab-like, from the archway to the kitchen further into the darkness on the far side of the room. A ray of light from the entry way caught the person's face briefly, red and disfigured.  
  
"Who is that?" Buffy whispered, icy dread tightening in her stomach. She felt for Spike's hand and clasping it tightly.  
  
Giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, Spike moved forward, towards the crouched outline of the figure across the room. He walked slowly, his hands held out, radiating calm and harmlessness. "Buffy? Is that you, pet?"  
  
No, Buffy thought, watching as he lowered himself to the ground beside the figure. I'm right here. You call me pet. Not… that.  
  
"Buffy? Am I Buffy?" The person laughed, a terrible sound. Jumping to her feet, she pushed past Spike and threw herself onto the couch. Both her hands concealed her face, then fell as she dragged her finger tips over the scars. "Am I Buffy? Not even close. Not even close to being Buffy."  
  
Oh, God, Buffy thought, swallowing hard. Bracing herself, she took one step forward, then another. "You… you were. Buffy. You were Buffy, and you are the Slayer."  
  
Light from a streetlamp pierced the window, and the Slayer-Buffy was revealed by it. Burns thickened her face. The skin, red and meaty, stretched tight over familiar bones. Smiling with her lipless mouth, the Slayer said, "I'm not. But I was."  
  
Buffy dropped onto the coffee table, perching there precariously. Shaken, she wiped at her face, covering her eyes. "You're the Slayer."  
  
Spike laid a heavy hand on Buffy's shoulder, pulling her back to lean against his legs. He shoved his other hand in the pocket of his jeans, hiding the tremble. Nodding at the Slayer, he said, "You did that to yourself, eh?"  
  
"Myself. To myself. Yes, I did this to myself. Burned off my face. Off my nose. My lips, no lips." Her voice built up, raising higher and higher as she spoke. "How did you know, Spike? How did you know it was me?"  
  
"It's your face, Slayer. No one burns a face unless they hate it. No one hates your face except…" He looked down at Buffy's bent head and couldn't continue.  
  
"Except me. I hate my face. Hate my body and my hair and… and my hands." Holding up one hand, she studied it in the orange light. "My stupid, Slayer hands. So… so stupid. Couldn't even… not the Slayer. Not powerful, not a savior."  
  
Looking up, Buffy reached out and took the Slayer's hand in hers. "What… what *happened* to you?"  
  
The Slayer traced her thumb over the back of Buffy's hand, obviously startled. "Acathla happened," she whispered, her wide eyes gripped by the sight of her burned skin on Buffy's flawlessness. "Acathla. Angel. Drusilla. And then Xander and Gi…" Breaking off, she shook her head furiously, cropped blond hair whipping back and forth. "No. No, no, no. Mom, no." Her voice, keening, made them flinch.  
  
"Hush, pet. You're all right," Spike said, kneeling beside the couch and grabbing her shoulders. He pulled her back to lie against the pillows. Stroking her hair, he blinked rapidly, trying not to look too closely at her face. The smell of burned flesh clung to her, hideously. "Shhh, love. Just… relax."  
  
"We need to know what happened," Buffy said in a tight voice, hugging her arms around her body.  
  
"Acathla, I told you," the Slayer moaned, rocking her face into Spike's palm. "Xander and I went in, to kill Angel. I told him to take care of Drusilla- I *told* him to! But he didn't listen, he… and then her fangs came out, and… I was fighting Angel, fighting hard, but then there was Xander, falling down all bloody. All the blood… and Dru jumped on my back, and things were black for a long time. And then…" She laughed against, hysterical. "Giles…"  
  
Gulping down nausea, Buffy stood and moved a few feet away. "What happened to Giles?"  
  
"They were going to kill us together. Me and Giles. I woke up, and he was there with me. Told me not to worry, we'd be fine. Liar, he was such a liar."  
  
"Go on, love," Spike said, letting her rub the roughness of her cheek against his hand. "Keep talking."  
  
"They knew how to open Acathla, but they hadn't yet. Drusilla made Giles think she was Jenny… thrall, you know? And Giles told her how. Angelus told me that, when I asked him. He told me Giles loved that gypsy bitch and would've told her anything, he was so happy to see her again. To touch her." Groaning, she clutched Spike's wrist, pinning him against her. "I haven't been touched since Mom died. Over a month. And over a year since a man's touched me."  
  
"Just keep talking," Spike said, letting her touch herself with his hand.  
  
"Drusilla went to kill him. Giles. Right next to me. But I asked *please*… I begged him, and he loved that… begged him to make her be Jenny in Giles' eyes. And she did, she was Jenny. Giles died in Jenny's arms, smiling… happy."  
  
"Then what, pet?"  
  
"Drusilla snapped his neck, so quick. She dropped him on top of me and left the room. Said the game wasn't fun anymore, that Angel had made it bad. She didn't like it when Giles died, I think. But that was bad for Angel, when she left, because it was him against me, and I beat him. Killed him. And then I picked up a hammer from the ground… they'd used it on Giles, you know? Before I got there? I took the hammer and smashed Acathla into bits. Bitty, bitty, bitty bits. Crumbs." She curled up into a ball, Spike's hand against her heart. "Didn't matter. They were all dead. Xander… Angel… Giles… all dead. Bits. Crumbs."  
  
"What did you do then?" Buffy asked hollowly.  
  
"I stood up. Walked outside. Into the street. A car was coming, so fast, like a blur." Smiling, she raised her chin and looked at Buffy. "I threw myself in front of it, and all that blackness came back."  
  
"But you lived." Spike stroked a chunk of hair out of her face.  
  
Blinking at him, the Slayer said, "Did I? Well, kind of. I guess. But it was over, after that. I wasn't the Slayer anymore."  
  
"Which explains why the town's open for demons. But not your face. When did you do that?"  
  
"Don't remember," the Slayer said, closing her eyes. "One day I woke up and realized I wasn't Buffy anymore. Couldn't stand it, having her face on me. I looked in the mirror, and there she was. So I killed her. Burned her to death."  
  
"Must've been a while back. The burns have healed okay."  
  
"Okay?" Buffy gaped at Spike. She waved her hands towards the Slayer. "You call that okay! Ask her about my mother."  
  
"When did your mum die, love?"  
  
"Not too long, a vamp got her. Just a regular vamp. She died, Willow says, a month ago. But Willow isn't here now. She can't stand me… can't look at me. She misses Buffy, but Buffy's dead."  
  
Buffy shoved her face above the couch, into the stream of light. "Look at me," she said. "Can't you see me?"  
  
The Slayer shrugged slightly. She raised her arms in the air, revealing rows of stitches cris-crossing the insides of her arms. Lowering them, she began to pick at one of the cuts. Blood dripped down towards her elbow, soaking into her shirt. "You're dead. We're all dead. Ghosts, ghosts, every one of us."  
  
"Nice job, those," Spike said, tensely casual. "Your work too?"  
  
"Nearly did it this time. Made the blackness come back for hours and hours, but then it was gone and Willow was there." Sighing, she turned to her other arm. Scars branded her from wrist to elbow, rivets of gnarled flesh. She dug her fingernail under one of the stitches, searching for more blood. It welled up, shiny and thick. Looking at it, the Slayer grinned. "Someday the blackness will be all there is. Soon, I hope. I hate the light."  
  
"Spike," Buffy whispered, backing away. Her face was bent into a pale mask of horror. "I have to…"  
  
He stood up and pulled a blanket down from the top of the couch to spread over the Slayer's legs. "Rest here a bit, pet," he stuttered, then followed Buffy into the kitchen.  
  
"That's *not* me," she said, grabbing his arm as he walked through the doorway. "That could *never* be me. No matter what happened, no matter how bad it was… I'd never be like this! How could this have happened?"  
  
"I was supposed to be there, wasn't I? Then?" He held her away from him, his eyes hot. "You were wrong about me."  
  
Startled, Buffy sank onto one of the kitchen stools. "Yes," she said, her hair falling around her face. "That was the day I told you about. The truce. It was suppose to be you, not Xander. I… I didn't realize that you were so…"  
  
"Important?"  
  
Pushing her hair back with both hands, Buffy looked up at him. Tears shined in her eyes, but did not fall. "I didn't realize you were anything, back then. Not then. I learned, of course." Holding her hand out to him, she whispered, "I fell in love with you. You know I did. You know… that I know, how wrong I was."  
  
His anger bloomed fully on his face for a second, then he let it drop with a sigh. Her hand was hot in his, and he let her pull him to her. "I know, pet," he said, "but now we have a bloody mess to clean up."  
  
She let herself cling to him for a minute, inhaling deeply, trying to replace the smell of burned skin with his own scent. "She… that's not me," she whispered, holding him tightly. "Not me."  
  
"I know, ducks, I know. You're a sight stronger than that. But it doesn't matter, you understand that?"  
  
"Yeah, I know." Releasing him reluctantly, she slipped off the stool. "Let's just clean up the town. Get rid of those road pirates. Then we'll…" She grimaced, hating what needed to be done. "Take care of it."  
  
"Take care of her," Spike supplied. "It's what she wants, love. The darkness, forever. And won't it be a mercy killing at that?"  
  
"It's… yeah, mercy. And another Slayer will be called, and we can go home. But I still don't like the thought of… well, killing myself."  
  
"I'll do it. You wait outside." He gave her an odd sort of half- smile. "Finally get to kill you, after all."  
  
"Make it…" She shook her head, unable to finish.  
  
"She'll be happy," Spike said softly, wrapping his arm around Buffy. He led her out into the dining room. "It will be like a dream to her, I swear it."  
  
"Thank you." She turned her face away as they walked into the entry way, not wanting to look at the Slayer. "I'll be…"  
  
"Wait," Spike said suddenly, pulling her away from the door. "Hear that? Someone's coming."  
  
They waited, tucked safely in the shadows of the dining room, as the front door opened.  
  
  
  
*****  
  
  
  
"Buffy?" Willow called, opening the front door of the Summers' home. "Are you here?"  
  
"Buffy doesn't live here," said a voice from the living room. "Buffy's dead. I've told you that already."  
  
Flipping on the living room light, Willow grinned down at the girl who laid on the couch on her stomach, her face buried in the cushion. "Buffy! I've been looking all over for you. You're not going to believe this, but… Buffy?"  
  
Going over to the couch, Willow sat on the edge and patted the girl's shoulder. "Hey, it's me, Willow. I can't believe I found you. And you're alive! My spell worked, even if it did totally mess up the whole world. I've got so much to tell you. Buffy? Are you awake?"  
  
The girl flipped over, toppling Willow back. Glaring, the light illuminating her terrible face, the Slayer laughed, long and low. "Buffy is *dead*!" she growled, grabbing Willow's shoulders and leering into her face. "Dead!"  
  
When Willow screamed, the Slayer began to laugh. 


	11. The Keeper of Truth Chapter 11

The Keeper of Truth  
  
Chapter 11  
  
Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.   
  
Rating: R  
  
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.   
  
Distribution: If you want it, email me.  
  
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com  
  
Author's Note: Due to the fact that for some reason, I can't post italics on ff.net, thoughts are put into brackets like .   
  
For Shannon- thanks!   
  
  
*****  
  
  
  
  
Willow's scream tore through the house, rocking Buffy to the core. "Willow!" she called, jumping to her feet.  
  
"Buffy, wait," Spike said, grabbing her as she rushed towards the scream. "The timeline, pet. If Willow sees you..."  
  
Buffy tore herself free of his restraining grasp. "It's not her! Didn't you hear what she said? This is *my* Willow!"  
  
She paused only a moment at the doorway to the living room, taking in the sight of Willow struggling as the Slayer pushed her down onto the coffee table. Hovering above her, the Slayer stroked her face with her ruined hands, brushing strands of red hair off her forehead. "Soft," she said, her spittle flecking Willow's cheek.  
  
"Oh God," Willow moaned, closing her eyes to the sight of the girl's burns, just inches from her face. "Stop, please stop."  
  
"Get away from her!" Buffy shouted, grabbing Willow's arm and pulling her from under the Slayer. "Spike!"  
  
"I've got her," Spike said, wrapping one arm around the Slayer's waist and lifting her towards the doorway. She didn't fight him, but lolled against his side, streams of laughter pouring from her mouth. Looking over his shoulder, he gave Willow a nod. "I'll take her upstairs. Put her to bed."  
  
"Buffy! You're you!" Willow threw her arms around Buffy's neck, shaking. "But she's... she's..."   
  
"Nuts," Buffy said, patting Willow's back. She met Spike's eyes over Willow's head. "Spike, are you..." She hesitated, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. "Don't... I mean, let's wait on it. On killing. Just until we figure things out."  
  
"Right," he said, stiffening as he glanced down at the Slayer, hoping she hadn't understood. She hung her head over his shoulder, senseless, still laughing. He hoisted her up into his arms and continued out of the room.  
  
"Okay, Will, it's all right now," Buffy said, extricating herself from her friend's arms and sitting on the couch. "It's me."  
  
"Yes! I found you! But..." She darted a look towards the stairs. "Who..."  
  
"A 'me' who's been through more that she could stand." Taking Willow's hand, Buffy tried to get her to focus on something other than the Slayer. "Will. A spell? You brought me back with a spell?"  
  
"Ah... yeah," Willow said, blinking hard, trying to center her thoughts. "A resurrection spell. But things went kind of kablooey. You might've guessed that already."  
  
"No. I didn't guess that. I mean, yeah, kablooey. Something had to have gone wrong for me to be here, alive, in the past. But I never thought of a spell. Why would you..." Her eyes went still and cool. "How could you do that to me?"  
  
"I saved you! Nasty, tormenty, hell dimension ring any bells? I couldn't leave you there to suffer. Especially not after you died to save us all."  
  
"Suffer. Hell." Buffy sunk back into the couch cushion. "You thought I was in hell? And you did a spell to bring me back to life?"  
  
"Yeah. But... well, something happened. The urn broke... and you ended up back here." Her mouth twisting, Willow shot another look towards the stairs. "With Spike, of all people. God, Buffy, what you must've been through... the last two years, all alone..."  
  
"Two years. You know I've been here for two years?"  
  
"Well, yeah. We tracked you, Tara and I. And then Anya... or, Anyanka, actually, we summoned her, and she sent me back here to find you. But we gave you a few years, let you stay here long enough to kill Glory. I didn't want to keep you here that long, but it was the only way I could think of to make sure you stayed alive after the reversal spell."  
  
"Reversal spell... wait a minute. I don't get this. Any of it." She rubbed her neck tiredly, confusion tensing her muscles, and wished that Spike would hurry and come back downstairs. Having his hand to hold wouldn't make the confusion go away, but it would definitely make it easier. Crossing her legs, she told herself that this was Willow, her best friend, and that she should play nice, no matter how upset she felt. So, she tried on a smile that almost met her eyes and said, "Okay, Will. You brought me back, and I'm glad to be alive. But... why are you here?"  
  
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "To bring you back, of course! To fix the timeline. To make everything right again."  
  
Buffy thought, a heaviness growing inside of her. She kept her eyes trained on the stairwell.   
  
Oblivious to Buffy's reaction, Willow continued. "You don't have to worry about the whole 'being dead' thing. You killed Glory here, and that'll stick even after I do the reversal spell. Her death spans dimensions because she's a god. She's above dimensional rules."  
  
"Is that right?" Buffy murmured, standing up. She patted her coat pockets, searching for the train tickets. Overhead, she could hear the thudding sounds of Spike's boots walking upstairs, heading towards the staircase. Looking at her friend, she hesitated. "Willow..."  
  
Willow shifted her eyes, nervously kicking at the coffee table leg. "I... I'm sorry. Everything you've been through for the last two years... it was all because I flubbed the stupid spell. You've been stuck here, all alone, and... and... I'm just really sorry. But... but don't worry, okay? As soon as we do the reversal spell, it'll be like you never died."  
  
"Willow," Buffy repeated, folding her arms over her chest. "Look, it's good to see you. And... and it's okay, alright? I'm not mad at you, not really. Yeah, it was really dumb of you to screw everything up... I mean, my god, look at it outside! And, look at her, at the Slayer! But..." She sighed, and with a soft smile said, "I'm okay. Happy. I haven't been alone, not at all. Spike and I have a life together, in Mexico. And our train home leaves pretty soon, so as soon as we take care of the Slayer, we're heading out."  
  
"Is it time, Buffy?" Spike asked as he came down the stairs, taking them two at a time. "We've got to take care of the nutty one before we go."  
  
"Yeah, I know," she said, holding out her hand to him as he walked into the room and pulling him to her side. "I was just explaining things to Willow."  
  
"But..." Willow gaped at them, blinking with bafflement. "No. You don't understand. We have to do the reversal spell."  
  
"And then what? My whole life here goes poof? No, thanks." Squeezing Spike's hand, she shook her head. "It's not like we're just heading out of town without a care. I know things are bad here, but we can help with that. We... well, we're going to kill the Slayer. It's... it's the right thing to do. There'll be another Slayer then, one who's not insane. She'll take care of the Hellmouth."  
  
"Oh gee, that's just great," Willow said exasperated. "You keep calling the nutcase upstairs the Slayer. But hello! Buffy, you are *still* the Slayer! You have a job to do. A responsibility to the people who love you! What about Xander, Buffy? And what about Giles? Don't they matter to you anymore?"  
  
Turning her face into Spike's arm, Buffy shivered. "Of course they matter. Xander's my friend. And Giles... he's... Giles. But..."   
  
"Lay off her," Spike growled at Willow, wrapping his arm around Buffy. "Fine thing it is, you coming in here all righteous-like when really, this whole thing is your fault."  
  
"How do you...?"  
  
He tapped his ear. "Vampires hear most everything, little witch. Buffy told you she's not leaving, so take your little spell and go home. She's not the Slayer here; she doesn't owe you jack."  
  
Ignoring him, Willow focused on Buffy, her eyes pleading. "Buffy, you will always be the Slayer. It doesn't matter how you live- or with whom. There's no separating your normal parts from your Slayer parts."  
  
Spike rolled his eyes. "You don't know what you're talking about. She's lived like a normal girl for years now, and been happier for it. If you're really her friend, you'll toddle along and leave well enough alone."  
  
"And if you care for her, you'll shut your mouth and let her decide! These are her friends who are dead, Spike. Buffy knows the right thing to do. She's always done what's right, and she always will."  
  
His face hardened. "The right thing to do? Now, that's funny. You, telling me what's right. How right was it, you pulling her out of heaven to come fight your monsters for you? And then when you screw up, you come here and try 'n take away her happiness again." Snorting, he shook his head. "Give us the lecture on righteousness again, witch. Don't think I took notes the first time. Wouldn't want to miss anything, you being such an expert and all."  
  
Willow reddened and glared at him, sputtering, "You... you... Buffy, how can you let him talk to me like that?"  
  
"Shut up," Buffy whispered, looking at the ground and hugging Spike's arm around her.   
  
"I'll talk to you any way I bloody well please. But not for much longer. Buffy and I have a train to catch."  
  
"You really think Buffy was happy in Mexico with you? Like you could really make her forget us! You're nothing but a... a... soulless *thing*!"  
  
Buffy raised her head and in a sudden strike, kicked the coffee table across the room. "I said shut up!"   
  
Spike and Willow stared at her in astonishment. "Buffy," they stuttered in unison, shooting dirty looks at each other.   
  
She glowered back at them, pale and shaken, but strong. "No more fighting. I can't take it. There's too much going on as it is. The last thing we need is you two going at each other like rabid animals. Can you behave like normal people for a minute, and let me think?"  
  
"He is not a p..." Willow dropped her head as Buffy gave her a look of death. "Okay. I won't fight. But Buffy, you have to listen to me. This spell... we have to do it. We just have to. It's simple, and it'll only take a minute. Once it's done, there won't be anything to fight about. You'll be... well, you, and Giles and Xander will be alive, and the world will be good again."  
  
"And what about me?" Spike said, going across the room. He up-righted the overturned coffee table and perched on it. "Where do I fit in with this brave new world of yours?"  
  
"It's nothing new, don't think of it like that. We're not creating anything. This... this...." Willow waved her hand in the air. "This is what's false. It's conjured, it's... nothing."  
  
"Not to us, Will," Buffy said, her voice strained. "To us it's our life. And you know what'll happen if we do the reversal spell. Our life...everything between Spike and I will disappear."  
  
"And you're gonna tell me that's not worth Xander and Giles' lives?"  
  
Buffy walked over to Spike and put her hand on his shoulder. She kept her features deceptively calm, but the tensing of her jaw betrayed her inner struggle. "I am not the Slayer to Spike," she said, looking down at him. "I've been just-Buffy for the last two years. Not the Slayer. I... I never fought, never had to. I had a garden, and I baked cookies. And we shared a bed together, Spike and I. A normal life. Do you have any idea how wonderful that was? How free I felt? I was safe, I was happy... I was so loved. He brought me orchids every night. And wecame back here because there was no other choice, but Spike and I, we always thought... we never imagined... any of this. We planned to be back in the jungle a week from now. Back home. How can you ask me to give this up? To give him up?"  
  
Stunned, Willow said, "I'm... I'm sorry, Buffy. Really, I am. But... you know you have to, right? It's not like there's a real choice here. Xander and Giles are dead. We have to bring them back."  
  
Leaning forward, Spike said, "Oh yeah, because that worked out so well the last time you thought that. 'I'll just bring them back. And hey, while I'm at it, let's bring back everyone! All the dead! It'll be one big, rotting party'!"  
  
"He doesn't need to be a part of this Buffy. This isn't his choice. We could do the spell, and he'd never know the difference. And everything will go back the way it should be."  
  
Jumping to his feet, he threw his vampire face on and growled at her. "Just you try it."   
  
"Spike, don't," Buffy said, softly forceful. She pulled him back to sit on the table. Feeling the fight go out of him, she leveled her gaze at Willow. "I know. What I have to do, it's... I know. But don't expect me to come skipping back with you. And don't take away Spike's choices. This is his life too. Our life, together."  
  
Willow sighed with frustrated doggedness. "It's just Spike. You remember? William the Bloody, he of the Buffy-bot-building fame. The guy who stole your underwear and chained you up in his basement. Two years together, well, that's great, but he's still Spike."  
  
Spike leapt to his feet again, but this time Buffy didn't stop him. She crossed the room to Willow in three quick strides.   
  
Leaning into her friend's face, she said, "Let me tell you something about Spike, Will. He's my mate. We've had two years off bliss together. If I would've known who he really was, back before I died, none of this timeline crap would've ever happened. This is all your fault, Willow, for doing such a dangerous spell to begin with. But this is my fault too, that the timeline became so twisted. If I'd realized that Spike was sincere when we were fighting Glory... all those times he told me he loved me... if I'd only *seen* him then, I would've never taken him away from here when I did. I would've made sure he took care of the things he needed to do, then when it was safe, we could've gone away together. I could've lived the rest of my life happy, with no Slayer stuff to worry about. But I didn't appreciate how important he was. And now it's all over. All of it."  
  
"Buffy," Willow whispered, tears shining in her eyes. "At least you'll be..."  
  
"I'll be alive again, huh? Well, that's just great. Really. Great. But what I'm giving up... love, happiness, normality... Spike... I'd almost rather be dead. You think you can fix everything with a little magic, huh? Well, fix that, Will. Fix that."   
  
With that, Buffy ran out of the room. Willow and Spike stared after her, jarred by the sound of the back door slamming. Covering her face with both hands, Willow sank back into the couch.   
  
Spike stood over her, his shoulders squared, tensed for a battle that didn't come. Slowly he relaxed, hearing Willow's muffled sobs. Pity didn't cross his face, but his eyes softened as they studied the horrified girl. "She'll do it," he said gruffly, his voice cool as he carefully withheld the great amount the words cost him to say. "You know she will."  
  
Snuffling, Willow looked up at him. "She hates me."  
  
He nodded, gaining back some satisfaction in hurting her. "Right now, she does. But it doesn't matter. Buffy... she's a hero. When given the choice and opportunity, she'll always save the day." Raising one eyebrow, he gave Willow a skeptical look. "You can't do this reversal spell without her, right? I won't have you taking her choice away. Bad enough to know what it is she'll choose."  
  
"She's the key to the spell, the focus. Without her, we're all stuck here." She cocked her head to the side, her eyes red-rimmed and speculative. "Spike... you really brought her flowers?"  
  
"Orchids," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Always orchids, every day. They're her favorite, you know. She kept 'em in our bedroom till the sun wilted them. Bloody things stunk like a refuse heap, all sun baked and moldering. But she loved them. Never tossed 'em out until their colors faded entirely. She's stubborn, that way. Doesn't give up on the things she loves. Sticks with them till the very end."  
  
Willow watched him silently for a moment, the air heavy between them. Finally, she said, "You better go check on her. Talk. We'll have to do the spell before morning."  
  
Without a word, Spike left the room, and Willow, all alone, laid back on the couch and closed her eyes. Speaking to the darkness, she said a single word, a wistful prayer on her lips. "Tara."   
  
*****  
  
"I can't do it," Buffy said into the shadows of the back yard trees. She sat on the porch steps, hugging herself in the chilled night air, her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands. "I just can't, and that's all there is too it." her inner voice whispered. I have to. Xander, and Giles... and Dawn, too. Right now, she's just some ball of energy, somewhere. But it has to be Spike's choice. He deserves that much. More than that, he deserves so much more. We both do. We deserve so much more than we'll ever have.   
  
Behind her, she heard the squeak of the back door opening, and the heavy sound of Spike's boots walking towards her. "I can't do it," she told him, not looking up.   
  
"But you will," he said, dropping onto the step beside her. "You know it, I know it. Even the witch knows it."  
  
"I will," she admitted, bitterness sharpening her tone. Exhaling heavily, she threw her head back, staring up at the stars. "Just exactly how much does this suck?"  
  
"You tell me, pet."  
  
"On the suckage scale, one to ten, it... well, it breaks the damn scale. I don't want to do this. I want..." She sighed again, and rested her head on his shoulder. "I want to go home."  
  
"If you do the witches' spell, something else'll happen. Something she didn't mention. Don't know if she's realized it or not."  
  
"What?"  
  
His eyes bored into her, probing her. "You'd be back in the proper timeline before your mum died. The hell-bitch is dead; she won't be around to distract. You'd notice your mum's symptoms earlier, press her into going to the doctor. You could save her."  
  
Buffy sat quietly, her mind whirling with doubts, all of which were cut in half by the possibility of saving her mother. she thought. Tears rose in her eyes, overwhelming her.   
  
Spike kept talking, pretending to ignore Buffy's tears, lending her the strength of his words, of his steady arm around her shoulders. "Not that I knew your mum, except if you count the whole axe-hitting encounter. But she did give you life, after all. It seems fitting for you to do the same for her, given the chance. When you look at it like that, it's not even a choice. You'll do the spell and set things right, no bones about it."  
  
"Why?" Buffy asked, the leather of his duster beneath her cheek slick with tears. "Why are you making this easier for me? It's not like this is what's best for you, going back to what you were before I died. You were miserable. And we were hardly even friends, much less..."  
  
"You know why, Buffy. I love you. And there's no choice. If you don't do the spell, we'll go back to the jungle and you'll try to put this whole thing behind you. But it won't happen. You'll think of your friend, of your Watcher, and you'll hate me for being what kept you here." Skimming his hand over her hair, he kissed the top of her head. "You'd always regret not fixing what was broken when you had a chance. And it would drive you mad, it would ruin you. And that would ruin me."   
  
"Spike..."   
  
"You won't be happy there, no matter how badly you want to be. That time is over for you. It was over the second we got off the train in Sunnydale."  
  
"I wish we'd never gotten off that train," Buffy mumbled into his shoulder, her eyes closing on the thought.   
  
"You don't mean that," he said, a bleak smile twisting his mouth. "Now you get to save the day. Be the big hero."  
  
"Yay me." She inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of him. "You know... you smell like home. Like the jungle."  
  
"It's the mud. Sticks to you, no matter how many times you wash."  
  
"No, it's not that. It's... you. You're home." Raising her arms, she drew his head down to rest against hers, forehead to forehead. "You are my home, Spike. And no matter what comes between us, that will always be true."  
  
"The truth doesn't matter if we don't remember it." He stroked his fingers over his face, feathering her with his touch. "It's hardly even the truth, then."  
  
"It will always be the truth," she whispered, catching his hand in hers and holding it against her cheek. She gazed at his through heavy-lidded eyes, and did nothing to hide the tear that dripped down her nose and over his knuckles. "We'll remember somehow. I promise."  
  
He crushed her against him, cutting off all the words they wanted to tell each other, all the false hope they wanted to raise. Their lips met and tangled, bruising and soothing, but most of all, silencing.   
  
  
*****  
  
"Where's Buffy?" Willow asked when Spike walked into the living room alone.   
  
He flopped into the arm chair across from the couch. "Said there was something she needed to see, before..."  
  
"Oh." She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, rigid with anxiety. Daring a tiny smile, she said, "I've never sat this long around an un-chipped, un-souled vampire without the fightey action going on."  
  
"That right?" He toyed with an unlit cigarette between his fingers "Well, I'm not much into that sort of action as of late."  
  
"How late?" she asked, curious despite herself.  
  
"Two years, give or take some. Ever since Buffy and I headed out of town together."  
  
"Buffy told me you lived in Mexico?"   
  
"Barely. Our house is on the border, almost to Guatemala." With a smirk, he leaned forward. "Enough of the chit-chat. What is it you really want to know?"  
  
She blushed, but met his eyes. "What was it like for Buffy, here, with you?"  
  
"Rough, at first. Buffy... she was pretty confused, what with being back from the dead for no reason we could see."  
  
Willow's blush deepened, but she nodded. "And later?"  
  
"Things were good, witch, good for both of us. Perfect, really. Long, hot nights full of nothing but each other. She loved the jungle, the heat, the animals, the flowers... she grew there, grew into the person she'd of been had the Watcher's Council not come knocking on her door way back when."  
  
Her mouth dropped open slightly as she watched the emotions flicker over his features. "You love her. Really, really love her."  
  
Closing his eyes, he tipped his head back, swallowing his feelings. "Yeah. And somehow, she loves me too."  
  
"She's not going to try to circumvent the spell, is she? Do something to make sure she remembers you? Because she can't. We won't take anything with us, when the spell is complete. And if she even tries... well, I don't know for sure, but I think that if Buffy makes herself remember you, remember that this mistake was made at all... well, that might be enough to break it. Emotions that strong..."  
  
"Grief," Spike whispered in a rumble. "The grief we feel... that'd be enough right there." He let her sit with his words for a moment, wanting to make her nervous, then backed down. "No worries, though. She's not thinking straight enough for anything like that. I don't know where she went, but she said it was private."  
  
*****  
  
The grass of the cemetery squished beneath her shoes as she left Xander's grave and made her way across the rows to where Giles rested. She knew where his grave was without having to search. No one but Giles would want to be that far inside the cemetery, away from the gates, away from the visitors and, most especially, away from the vampires and the noise of slaying. she thought, eyeing the speckled marble marker that lay flush with the grass. A simple square of green stone, engraved with simple words, but it had the power to knock her breath away. Taking a big gulp of air, she struggled to collect herself before greeting him.  
  
"Hi Giles," she said finally over the lump in her throat. Coughing, she knelt in the grass and brushed away the loose dirt that covered his marble marker. "I had to come and see you. It's kind of dumb, I guess. In just an hour or so, I won't remember any of this, if Willow's spell works. But just in case it doesn't... if something goes wrong and I don't get to see you again, I had to come and say... I had to tell you that I'm sorry. This is not how things should've happened. Can't it ever be easy?"  
  
Sniffling, she could almost hear his voice in her head. "Remember last time I asked you that, when Ford died? What did you say? 'The good guys are always stalwart and true, the bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and we always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after.' I wish that was true, right now more than ever."  
  
"I've messed up so bad, but I'm going to try to make it right. I don't..." she stopped, looking at her hands spread wide on his stone. "I don't want to do this. I want to be selfish and terrible. If I could go home with Spike and pretend I'd never found out about you... about any of this, I'd do it. But... I couldn't forget. So I won't. I'll make it better. Because you deserve that, you and Xander. But..."  
  
She looked down at the etched letters framed between her fingers. Tracing the inscription- Rupert Giles, Treasured Friend, Beloved Watcher- she bowed her head and left her last words unsaid. 


	12. The Keeper of Truth Chapter 12

The Keeper of Truth Chapter 12  
  
Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, email me.  
  
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com  
  
I know, I know, I thank Sass Angel every time I post something, but really, you guys have no idea how much she's to thank for this chapter. So, thanks!  
  
And thanks to everyone who has reviewed this. You are all great, but I have to thank Olga, Kimberly and Kristin especially.  
  
One more chapter after this.  
  
  
  
*****  
  
As he walked through the cemetery, Spike rubbed his hands over his arms, trying to smooth away the goose bumps that told him dawn was nearing. Still have a good hour, he thought, his coat brushing the tombstones lining the path. Buffy'll be back before sunrise. Unless she decides to let it all go to pot and skip town. With mixed feelings, he shook his head. No, she'll be there. Hero, and all. Save the world, and to hell with old Spike.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the birth of a new vampire. The creature, stuck half-out of its grave, clawed madly at the grass. He ignored it, tucking his hands into the pockets of his duster and continuing forward. Not fair to her, thinking that way. Not when I all but forced her to choose the world over the jungle. Guess there's still a bit of evil left in me after all. Sighting his old crypt, he quickened his pace.  
  
The door was unlocked, but Spike hesitated on the threshold, searching the dark depths for signs of life. It couldn't have been sitting empty for the past few years, but as far as he could tell, it looked exactly as it had when he'd left. Minus the crucified vampire and the puddles of blood. For courtesy's sake, he called out, "Hello? Anyone here?"  
  
The words echoed back at him, raising more goose bumps along his arms. Ignoring the shiver that grew along his spine, he walked inside. He shut the door behind him, jabbering on to bolster his courage. "Look at the wanker I've become. Getting spooked by my own voice. In an hour I'll be offering up my metaphorical neck to a metaphorical sword, and this is what scares me? Yeah, that makes sense."  
  
The door still bore the marks of Angelus's knife; Spike could see every point at which he had hung impaled. Running his fingers over the grooves evoked images of the night they'd been made. Memories flashed through his mind: Dru's face hovering above Angelus's shoulder, beaming with torture-induced arousal. Angelus's eyes, heated from within by an angry flame. Spike wiped a hand over his face, brushing away the well- remembered scent of the vampire's breath. "Never could remember to brush after eating, bloody Peaches. Some luck, that his stench is what stays with me. It couldn't be his girlish figure."  
  
A noise behind him rose, a shuffling in the far shadows, followed by the sound of a match striking. Spike stiffened, then slowly turned. Across the crypt, a single candle burned, sitting in a silver holder on the bare, cement floor. "Come on out now, whoever you are. I've got no time for games tonight."  
  
A peculiar laugh wafted towards him, bell-like and familiar. He watched as a small hand gripped the holder. The flame moved upwards to reveal a mass of dark hair. Tilting her head back, letting the hair fall away to reveal her thin smile, Drusilla took a step towards him. "Hello, my Spike."  
  
Stiffening, he took a deep breath, forcing his muscles to relax one by one. He restrained his dual urges to run back to Buffy and to punch Dru's face in. When he was convinced his voice would come naturally, he gave her a single, regal nod. "Hello, Dru."  
  
"You've been a busy boy." She walked closer, scrutinizing him, her head cocked. "Gone far, far away, and back again, I see. Are you well, then? Your legs, they've healed?"  
  
"Good as new, right as rain, and all that rot." His jaw tightening, he took a step towards her. "And you, pet? Here all alone, eh? Where's old Daddy hiding?"  
  
"Not here," she sighed, looking around the room as though expecting Angelus to materialize thought the concrete walls. "No, no, he's gone far away as well."  
  
"That right? I'm surprised he let you off your leash. Or did he? Maybe you just got sick of the grand poofter's nonsense, figured out you'd be happier on your own. But, no. You never did know a good thing when it came up and bit you on the neck."  
  
Her expression darkened. She shook her finger, tsking him. "Play nice, my Spike. Didn't you learn the rules when last we met? Play nice, or not at all."  
  
With a shake of his head, he vamped out and growled. "Last time we met, I was a far sight more helpless than I am now. Easy game, isn't it Dru, to torture someone with no working legs."  
  
She smiled, a slow, knowing smile, and did not look away. "Easier still to torture someone who will not speak for fear of their love's life. Who can only bleed and break and beg."  
  
He couldn't hold back his surprise. "You knew Buffy was here?"  
  
"I can sense the Slayer, as can you. As can Angelus, but he was far too distracted with anger and lust to notice her scent."  
  
"Where is Angelus? Holed up somewhere ripe, I'm sure, with a new bevy of minions."  
  
Her shoulders made a dainty shrug. "Couldn't say. We parted ways long, long ago."  
  
"About a year and a half ago, I heard. After Acathla. Hell, Dru, you should've known that a man'll promise the world to get inside a woman's knickers. But he buggered it all up, didn't he. No hell on Earth for you, that about the long and short of it?"  
  
Moving to the sarcophagus, she perched on its edge, setting the candle beside her. "Stupid boy. I didn't leave because of Acathla."  
  
The fingers of his right hand twitched, feeling for the watch he didn't wear. Better hurry along the small talk. Got a world to fix tonight. "Why'd you leave him, then?"  
  
Pouting petulantly, she reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out something. "Because of him. My new pet."  
  
Squinting, Spike frowned at the set of glasses she held. "Come again, pet?"  
  
"The Slayer's Watcher. I wanted to keep him, to make him my own. He had such poetry about him, such beautiful anger. But Angelus forbade it. Made me eat him instead." Smoothing back her long, loose hair, she slipped Giles' glasses onto her face and gazed at Spike through them. "Reminded me of you, he did. The way you were when I found you."  
  
Curious despite himself, he leaned closer. "The Watcher reminded you of me? How so?"  
  
"So full of spirit and vision, of glory seen by none of those around him. None but me. He never begged for his life, do you know? Not a syllable that pathetic crossed his lips." She stroked the frame of the glasses. "Do you remember what it was I said to you that day? Your day, your day in the alley in London?"  
  
His face softened with memory. "I walk in worlds that others can't begin to imagine. Yes, I remember."  
  
"The Watcher walked the same path, unnoticed, unappreciated. Always longing for something bigger, something brighter to gather him in its palms and fold him into a life of glistening splendor. I wonder, my Spike, did you ever find your world? Did you ever find your effulgence?"  
  
He started towards her, his hand outstretched. "Oh yes, I- wait." Shaking himself, he pulled back. "None of your bloody business."  
  
Ignoring his response, Drusilla took off Giles' glasses and polished them with the hem of her shirt. "He did, the Watcher. I came to him as his own, lost love. He wasn't afraid to go, not then. Imagine, his whole world was slipping away and he smiled, such a lovely smile. Like you, William. You weren't afraid, that day in the alley when I took your world from you. Why is it you didn't fear my bite?"  
  
Spike sighed. "I wanted it. You. A change."  
  
"I told Daddy I'd find the wisest and bravest knight in the land to be my mate. He thought you were the most foolish knight, but he was wrong." Hopping off the sarcophagus, she leaned up against his chest, staring into his face. He closed his eyes at the feel of her cold breath on his neck. Nuzzling his throat with an open mouth, she took in a sharp breath and let it out slowly, breathing her words onto his skin. "Be brave, my Spike. Go on to the next."  
  
When he opened his eyes, she was gone.  
  
*****  
  
"What are you doing?" Buffy asked, coming into the living room and shrugging out of her jacket. She took in the sight of Willow kneeling on the bare floorboards with an arched brow. "Lose something?"  
  
Brandishing a fat piece of black chalk, Willow started to draw in large angles on the wood. "I'm making a pentagram for the reversal spell. Once that's done, we can get started." "Will this take long?" Buffy asked. "Not that I'm in a rush or anything. Just wondering." "Nope, not long at all. It's actually a really easy spell," she explained, finishing the pentagram and standing up. She turned to the coffee table and picked up a wooden box. "I'm just going to undo the spell I did before, to bring you back. Very straightforward. No room for huge, world-changing mistakes this time." "That's an improvement. But umm. wait a sec. If you reverse the spell that caused all this, won't I be dead again?"  
  
"Nope. Not now that Glory's dead. Her death sticks in every dimension, so when we go back to normal, she'll have been dead months before she would've opened the portal. No Glory, so no dead Buffy."  
  
"But if things are back to normal, I would never have killed her. Hence the whole normal thing."  
  
"Confusing, huh? That's time travel for you. It's a paradox." She flashed Buffy a quick smile. "But don't worry. I wouldn't let you down."  
  
"Uh-huh. Yeah. You'd never do that." She looked around the corner, down the empty hallway. "Where's Spike?"  
  
Opening a wooden box, Willow pulled out five, squat candles covered in purple tissue paper. She unwrapped them and set one on each point of the pentagram, being careful not to smudge the chalk. "Where do you think he is? Vamp's last night without a chip."  
  
"He's not hunting. He wouldn't do that."  
  
"Why not? Look at it from his perspective. He's got no reason not to. It's not like he has to worry about staying on your good side; you're already lost to him. And you won't stake him, not now."  
  
Crossing her arms over her chest, Buffy bit her lip. "You don't understand. He's not walking the straight and narrow because he's scared of me. He's doing it because it's who he is now."  
  
Willow picked up a gold chalice from the coffee table and centered it inside the pentagram, nudging it slightly to the side for precision. "He doesn't have a soul, Buffy. He's not good. He can't be."  
  
Buffy dropped down onto the couch, rubbing her eyes, thinking. "I know. I used to believe that too. But Will, think about something. The Spike we knew, the one with the chip. okay, he wasn't good, but he was getting there. He was on the right path. And given enough time, don't you think he would've been so close to good that no one would care if he had a soul or not? And if he could become good without a soul, don't you think that says something about him, as a person?"  
  
Her face purposefully blank, Willow said, "Keep talking."  
  
"If he can become good as a soulless creature, maybe that makes him better than all of us who are good with the help of a soul. Or maybe not, I don't know. But it makes him at least as good."  
  
"You're saying that he's become as good as a souled person over the last two years?"  
  
"Yes." Quickly, before Willow could protest, she added, "And that shouldn't surprise you. You saw him on that path, in the future."  
  
"But he had a chip. An stimulus, a restraint, a. Buffy, he didn't have much choice. And he had a huge impetus."  
  
The ghost of a smile lightened Buffy's face. "Why couldn't love be his impetus, Willow? Why would it have to be something negative, like the chip? Don't you think he could've changed because of a positive force?"  
  
A line wrinkled Willow's forehead. "I. I. well. Huh." She rose from the floor and sat next to Buffy. Taking her friend's hand, she said, "Okay. I. I'll go with that theory as true. It doesn't matter what I think at this point anyways. But I do want to know. Buffy, how did this all happen? How did you go from the 'Spike has super cooties' camp to the great, redeeming love side of things?"  
  
Buffy leaned into Willow's shoulder, taking comfort in her familiar smell. "If I could tell you when, or how, I would. There wasn't any huge moment. No bells and lights. Or, lots of bells and lights, just not in an all-powerful, voice from the heavens kind of way. Things with Spike were so good. Not from the very start, I'll give you that. I paid him to help me in blood, but only for a few days. But then, it all just made sense. He needed me, and I. I *so* needed him. It was just."  
  
Stroking Buffy's hair, she said, "Just what?"  
  
"It's just." Buffy hesitated, lowering her eyes. Then, in a whisper, she said, "I love him. That's all. I just. love him."  
  
Willow just shook her head, silenced. They sat together, cuddled close, taking ease in each other's presence. The lights on the candles flickered, drawing attention by contrast to the gloom of the dark house. They didn't move as the back door creaked open, but when Spike walked in, Willow released Buffy and watched her go to his side with calm eyes.  
  
"You're back," Buffy said, standing as close as she could to him without touching him. "Where'd you go?"  
  
"Saying my good-bye's," he said, running the flat of his hand over her hair. "Much like yourself, I'd imagine."  
  
"Yeah." Gesturing to the pentagram, she said, "Look."  
  
He stared down at it, the candle flames reflecting off his pupils, and swallowed hard.  
  
"Are you afraid?" Buffy asked, her voice small and quivering. She took his hand in hers.  
  
"Not at all." He gave her a smile that didn't meet his eyes. "I'm the bravest knight in the land."  
  
A surprised grin burst onto her face. "Huh? The what-est what?"  
  
Staring over her shoulder at the candles, he just shook his head.  
  
Willow stood, straightening her jeans. "Umm. I'm gonna get this started, guys. It'll be a minute before I need you. Why don't you say your. you know, good-byes."  
  
Buffy nodded. Squeezing Spike's hand, she couldn't get him to tear his eyes away from the candles. "Spike. C'mon." Tugging on his arm, she led him out of the room, to sit on the stairs.  
  
He sank onto a step, pulling her down beside him. Leaning against the wall, he could see the shape of Willow's shoulders in the living room, bent over the floor, a book in her hands. Buffy's hand on his knee brought his focus back to her. He tipped his head to the side, taking in the sight of her flushed face.  
  
"This is it, then. In a minute, we'll be. not like this," he said, holding up their clasped hands.  
  
She opened her mouth, but lost the words in a rush of emotion, so she simply brought his hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles one by one. Unwrapping his fingers from hers, she kissed each tip, then ran her tongue over the lines of his palm, life line and love line, running down to merge as one at the blue veins of his wrist.  
  
He stifled a groan at the heat from her mouth. "Buffy. Pet. I want you to mark me."  
  
" Why? It won't go with you. You'll have the same body you did before the last two years happened."  
  
"When I die." he started to say.  
  
She interrupted him, clutching his hands painfully. "You're not going to die. You're just going to be who you were. Before."  
  
He glared at her. "Don't logic me about this. We both know what's going to happen will be a death for me. the death of us."  
  
Closing her eyes in misery, she bowed her head to his hands. "My death, too," she said, fighting back tears. "Another one."  
  
"When I die," he said again, "I want to go out wearing your mark. I want it so that anyone looking at me in that moment could know that I'm not who I was before you. I want them to know that the love of a woman- a Slayer- was enough to change a demon into a man. Nothing on the inside of me is as it was before I loved you. Shouldn't there be some change on the outside as well?"  
  
"It'll hurt," she said, standing and pulling him up with her.  
  
"Of course it will hurt. This whole bloody thing hurts. Marking me. it *should* hurt. It has to." With one quick movement, he ripped off his shirt. Buttons clattered down the steps, pinged off the walls. He tossed the shirt over the rail carelessly and pulled a folded knife from the pocket of his jeans. "Make it hurt, Buffy."  
  
His expression was taut, his face so hard, Buffy thought that if she touched his cheek, it would feel like marble. How do I do this? Taking the knife, she placed her hands on his shoulders and looked him over. Flat stomach, firm chest, a peppering of hair. she pressed him into turning around, facing away from her so she could examine his back. The fine bones of his shoulder blades looked vulnerable, like the folded wings of a bird. Here, she thought as an ancient knowledge filled her. The last bite a woman gave him sent him from the human world. How else should I send him from this one but by doing the same?  
  
"Alright" she said, looking down at him from the step above his. Dropping the knife on the floor, she rested her chin on his shoulder and kissed his earlobe. "Ready?"  
  
"As ever," he said and closed his eyes.  
  
Licking her way over his neck to the nape where his hair met his skin, she nibbled the skin there lightly, preparing him. Without hesitation she sank her teeth into the muscle above his spine and pressed down at hard as she could. His body bowed back into hers and she wrapped her arms around his waist, supporting him. They sank down onto the stairs, Spike laying half in her lap, grinding his teeth in silence.  
  
Blood filled Buffy's mouth, making her gag, but she kept bearing down. She didn't want to tear the flesh out, only mark it so deeply that it wouldn't heal before the spell was completed. The front of her shirt was soaked in his blood, sticking the skin of his back against her. With each movement of his body, she felt a wet tugging at her chest where his blood joined them together. How appropriate, she thought wryly, rubbing her hands up and down his sides until he caught them in his and pressed them against his abdomen.  
  
"Right, that's good," he rasped, patting her hands and setting her free.  
  
She pulled her teeth out of his skin. As he turned to face her, she swallowed the blood that coated her mouth and wiped her face on her sleeve. "You." she faltered, watching the flow of blood over his collarbone and down his chest. "Did I."  
  
Stroking her cheekbone with his thumb, he said, "You did it just right, love."  
  
"Does it hurt?" she whispered, her voice ragged. "Does it hurt enough for you?"  
  
Grabbing her arms, he pulled her to him, cradling her against his front. "Couldn't hurt more," he told her, knowing it was the truth. "But I'm glad of it, Buffy. I'm glad of the last two years with you. It was worth this." The feel of her pressed against his bare chest made him close his eyes with longing for the many nights in their jungle bed, when she'd curl against him just as she was now. Happy nights, unlike this one.  
  
She rubbed her face down the crease of his sternum, tasting a lick of his blood, swallowing the tang of it from her tongue to take a part of him with her. Beneath her arms, she could feel the give and take of his breathing. Always so human seeming, she thought, matching her own breathing to his. Not that it matters now.  
  
"Even if you were human, we would've ended this way," she said, fresh tears welling up at the irony of it. "All that time, we thought our biggest challenge was our natures, how opposite they are. You, vampire; me, Slayer. Now this. it wouldn't matter what you were, what I was. It never mattered, not really. Look how insignificant this makes it."  
  
Spike tilted her face up towards his and brushed at the tears building in corners of Buffy's eyes. "We really should have a fight," he said abruptly.  
  
"A fight? Right now?"  
  
"Not like there'll be another chance." He gave her a lopsided smile. "Fighting's one of our best things. Be a shame to never get another go at you."  
  
Sniffling, she narrowed her eyes. "You don't have to make me laugh, Spike. I wasn't going to cry."  
  
"Right. Because teary eyes are for the shiny, happy people."  
  
Biting her lip, she shook her head. "No. I won't cry. I'm not going to have that be our last moment together."  
  
"Guys?" Willow coughed once, looking meaningfully towards the pentagram. "It's time. I need you, Buffy."  
  
Turning her face against Spike's neck, she looked sideways at Willow. "Will I. can I."  
  
"It's just for a minute. I can do the actual spell without you. It just needs your. well, it needs your blood. Just a teensy bit."  
  
Buffy picked up the knife from the floor and walked without hesitation into the living room, straight into the center of the pentagram. The blade bit into her wrist at the quick twist of her hand. Hissing in pain, she stuck her arm over the chalice. "How much?" she asked Willow, watching her blood fall.  
  
Rushing into the room, Willow looked from Buffy's pinched face to the half- full cup. "That's. that's good. Great. Thanks."  
  
With a bitter smile, Buffy pressed her wrist against her stomach, holding the wound closed. "Don't mention it."  
  
"Great," Willow repeated, waiting until Buffy left the circle before taking her place in front of the chalice. "That's great. Now we. it'll be just a second. A quick second."  
  
Spike stood in the doorway, leaning against the wall. Buffy stood still for a moment, watching Willow's bent head, listening to the Latin words pour from her friend's mouth. Then she went to Spike and smiled at him, a ghoulish smile that would have chilled him if it hadn't been the echo of his own expression.  
  
She touched him as if reading him by Braille, her face awash with concentration and tension as she relearned the feel of the muscles under her hands. His chest tightened and relaxed under her hands. This was their language, the one they'd created together over the past two years. A touch to tease, another to soothe, and after enough contact they knew all they ever could of each other. With their bodies, they'd told each other all the stories their hearts held. Falling back on this language was the cowards way out, but Buffy couldn't bring herself to care.  
  
"I love you." She pressed the words against his skin as if tattooing him with their weight.  
  
Burying his face in her hair, his lips found her ear and kissed over it. "I love you."  
  
Willow screamed as a flash of yellow light filled the room. And then there was silence. 


	13. The Keeper of Truth Chapter 13

The Keeper of Truth  
  
Chapter 13  
  
Author's Note: Thank you all so much. I appreciate your reviews and emails more than I can tell you! I'm glad you've enjoyed the story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Special thanks to all the people who faithfully reviewed each chapter, and to my beta Sass Angel (who's possibly the best human being in the whole world for the amount of patience and care she took in helping me with this story).  
  
  
  
***** Sunnydale September, year 2000 *****  
  
  
  
  
  
The Magic Box was dark, lit only by the glow of a fat candle sitting beside the cash register. Buffy sat up slowly from where she was lying, sprawled on the floor beneath the counter. Blinking, dazed, she ran her hands over her face, scrubbing at it, trying to clear her head.  
  
She stood, holding onto the counter with one hand for balance. Looking around, she saw that her friends were scattered all around her, all coming back to consciousness as slowly as she was.  
  
"What happened?" she asked, looking from Willow to Xander, who both sat slumped over the round table.  
  
Straightening, Xander shrugged and reached out a hand to pull Anya to her feet. She'd been lying on the floor beside his chair. "I don't know. Last thing I remember, we were sitting around talking about Dracula and his pit of women. Then. nothing."  
  
Tara came out from the back room. She flipped on the light switched, revealing a large bruise that bloomed across her forehead. "Ouch," she said as she touched her f ace gingerly and sat down beside Willow. "What's going on? Someone do a spell or something?"  
  
"I don't think so," Giles said, popping up from behind the counter. He smoothed his disheveled hair with quick, dignified swipes of his hand. "None of us were in the mood for spells after our day with Dracula."  
  
"Then what?" With one finger, Buffy touched the puddle of melted wax below the candle's wick. "Look. Only a little bit melty. But I lit it this morning. It should've melted all the way out by now."  
  
A loud groan came from near the stairs to the basement. Spike walked in, one hand pressed against his eyes. "What the bloody hell did you wankers do to me?"  
  
"What's bleach boy doing here?" Xander said, shooting to his feet. He moved closer to Buffy. "Maybe he did this."  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes. "He didn't do anything. Look, he's as freaked out as we are."  
  
Squinting as he walked into the light, Spike smirked at Xander. "I didn't do a thing, but maybe you did. Heard you found Drac's bugs right tasty. Could be he's still around somewhere, pulling your strings like a puppet."  
  
Xander's hands clenched into fists. "I. me. no. It wasn't me. And why are you even here?"  
  
"Don't rightly know. It's not like I'd be hanging around for your precious company, that's for bloody sure." He looked around Xander, meeting Buffy's eyes. "You sure it's not Drac working behind the scenes?"  
  
"No, I dusted him." Buffy's lips twitched up at the corners. "Then, he came back. And I dusted him again. And. well, maybe he's dusty, maybe not. But still, it wasn't Xander. He woke up here with us."  
  
"Well, we're all unharmed, and that's the important thing." Giles smiled down at Willow, who was gesturing with wordless angst to Tara's bruise. "Mostly unharmed, that is. I don't know what could've caused this, but whatever it was, it's gone now. I best consult my books."  
  
"It was magic," Tara said, glancing at Buffy as if unsure of how her words would be received. "But not like any spell I've ever felt before. Something. something farther away, but more intimate, too. I dunno, that sounds wrong, but. it's like it is familiar and strange at the same time."  
  
Raising her eyebrows, Buffy nodded slowly. "Uh-huh. Okay." She turned to Giles, who was pulling books off the shelf. "You do the research. Will, Xander, you'll help him? I've gotta get home and check on Dawn and Mom."  
  
"We still don't know why Spike's hanging around. What was he doing in the basement anyways? Stealing. Stealing our stuff, our magickey stuff." Xander pointed his finger in Spike's face, jabbing him in the nose. "Pay up, or I'll."  
  
Buffy shoved Xander away from Spike with a hard sweep of her arm. "You'll do nothing," she said. "Back off, Xander. I'm not going to let you hurt him. Back off right now." Sticking her body between his and Spike's, she reached back and took Spike's hand. The movement was so smooth and without premeditation, she felt like she'd done it a hundred times before. And by the cool pressure of Spike's fingers wrapped around hers, she knew he felt the same.  
  
The air in the room seemed to thicken as everyone gaped at Buffy. Spike and Xander, wearing identical, jaw-dropped expressions, looked at each other in confusion.  
  
"Did you really just do that?" Xander said in shock.  
  
Spike dropped her hand, his eyes wide. "Defending me now, Slayer? And touching me?"  
  
Willow and Tara exchanged a baffled glance. "Buffy," Willow said in reproof. "What are you doing?"  
  
Confused, Buffy shook her head. "I. I don't know." She closed her eyes and leaned against the counter, pressing one hand against her chest. "Something wrong. I. I don't feel right. I feel."  
  
Giles dropped his books and rushed to her side. Placing one hand flat on her back, he helped her over to the round table and lowered her into a chair. "Back off, everyone. Give her room to breathe."  
  
"No, no. I'm fine. I just. for a minute there, I." Opening her eyes, she grimaced. For a minute, I felt something for Spike. But there's no way I'm telling them that. "I'm fine. Just. dizzy. Yeah. Dizzy. Go on, go do research and stuff. I'm just. fine."  
  
Xander knelt at her feet, looking up into her face. "You sure? For a second there, I thought you were gonna take my head off.. For Spike. All I was doing was."  
  
"I know," she said, cutting him off. Standing, she pushed away from them and walked to the front part of the store. "I just. hey. Where'd Spike go?"  
  
"He took off when you closed your eyes." Xander snorted and took a few steps towards her. "Just like him, huh? When the going gets tough, the tough get. no, 'cause he's not that tough. I meant, when the going gets. I mean. Well, he's gone. Took off like the coward he is."  
  
Her face flushed, and she'd marched three strides towards Xander before she realized what she was doing. What she was feeling. Anger, defensiveness. she wanted to hurt Xander for saying those things about Spike. But Spike. he was the enemy, not Xander. God, what's wrong with me? Feelings? For Spike?.  
  
The Scoobies stared at her with concern. Willow stood and moved towards her slowly, her hands outstretched. "Buffy? Why don't you go home, check on your family. Maybe take a nap? You look a little."  
  
"Psychotic." Xander gestured pointedly to Buffy's hand, which still tingled with the memory of Spike's skin. "You held hands with that. that thing."  
  
Her face snapped shut on all expression. She looked at him with bleak eyes. "I know. Umm. a nap. That's a good plan, Will. I'll. just.. go now."  
  
They watched her leave, and when the door banged shut, Xander turned to face the group. He shook his head. "What was that all about?"  
  
Before anyone could respond, the bell above the door jingled and Riley strode into the room. "What's wrong with Buffy?" he asked, stopping in front of Xander.  
  
Xander shrugged. "Good question."  
  
"She rushed right by me, like she didn't even see me. I said hi to her, but. nothing. I wasn't even a blip on her radar screen."  
  
"Maybe that's because she's blipping Spike."  
  
Letting out a laugh, Riley started to tell Xander not to even joke about such a thing, but the laugh died as he saw the seriousness on Xander's face. "Spike. You can't be right about that. There's no way Buffy would ever.. Not with Spike."  
  
"Yeah? Well, just a minute ago, she was ready to go all Slayer-happy on my ass protecting him."  
  
"So? That doesn't mean anything. She's the Slayer. She protects the helpless, even worthless monsters like Spike. We don't get to judge her for that- it's her calling, not ours." Riley looked at the rest of the Scoobies, who were watching him closely. "What happened here?"  
  
Willow took a step closer to Riley, her eyes soft with pity and confusion. "I don't think Buffy's 'blipping' anyone. but you, of course., but something *is* up with her and Spike." Her voice dropped to a tender whisper. "She. she held his hand. Just took it up in hers, like she'd done it a hundred times before. Like they were."  
  
Working his jaw, Xander glared at Willow, cutting off her words. He put a hand on Riley's arm. "Spike's done something to her. A spell or something. Things went all magicky in here right before she made with the Spike-ick. He needs to be taken down, man."  
  
Riley, his face flushing with anger as their words sank in, pushed an anxious hand through his hair and turned to leave.  
  
"Where are you g-going?" Tara called, chewing her lip.  
  
Xander's mouth raised in a half-smile. "Spike hangs out at that bar on the bad side of town. It's a demon bar, called Sparky's."  
  
Riley barely acknowledged them. "I'm going now."  
  
"Where?" Tara repeated.  
  
"Hunting," he said shortly and left, letting the door slam behind him.  
  
*****  
  
  
  
He was running down a jungle path, chasing something or someone he could not see in the darkness. Leaves slapped his bare thighs, mud squished between his toes, but being naked seemed natural, as did the chase. When he fell, he landed hard on the path and slid in the mud on his rear. A voice rose behind him, the sound of laughter met his ears, and he closed his eyes as a small pair of hands touched his back. They curved around his shoulders and slid down his chest, warm and smooth, titillating, familiar.  
  
"Spike." The woman said his name in a thick murmur, again and again as her hands moved over his chest to his back, then around his waist. Thin fingers danced over his hip bones, traced the hollows.  
  
He gasped at the feel of her pressed up against his back. She was naked too, he knew, and muddy, and completely intoxicated him with her nearness. Pulling her around, he sat her in his lap, clutched her against his chest, and breathed in the scent of her hair. She smelled of flowers and of him, his scent on her hair as if imprinted there from years of closeness.  
  
Inhaling deeper, he rubbed his mouth over her forehead. "Buffy," he whispered. "Oh god, Buffy."  
  
Awakening slowly, Spike turned his face into the cold stone of the crypt sarcophagus on which he slept, as though it held the warmth of the golden skin and strong, small arms he'd dreamed of being wrapped in. The smell of crushed flowers, of jungle trees and something deeper invaded his senses, underlying the memory of her lips pressed against his, her hands on the skin of his back, drawing him closer, drawing him inside her body.  
  
He sat up, his eyes wide with amazement. "Oh god," he rasped, raking his fingers through his hair. His tongue dashed over his lips, and he could still taste her there, sweet and tangy. Buffy taste. But I've never. "God, no. Not again."  
  
Shrugging on his duster, he swept out of the crypt into the darkness of the empty streets. The lights of his favorite bar shined in front of him like a beacon of safety- the one place in town he could be sure the Slayer would never be. He couldn't face her, not when he could still feel her on his skin, in places she'd never touched.  
  
"Sssssspike," said the serpentine barman as Spike walked in and down past the long row of stools. "Your tab."  
  
"Not now," he growled without pausing and pushed open the door to the back room.  
  
Inside, three demons sat at a round table, playing cards. Spike barely looked at them. He flopped down on one of the metal folding chairs, pulled out his flask, and drank long and deep.  
  
"Hey, Spike," Clem said. He exchanged a nervous glance with the female vampire sitting across from him. "You want to play?"  
  
Gulping, he swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and tipped his head in affirmation. "Yeah. Cut me in."  
  
Clem cut the deck and started to deal. "You sure you're up for this tonight? You don't look well."  
  
"Don't I? Well, it's no wonder." Frowning, he took another swig from his flask, and scooped up the cards dealt to him. Sorting them, he said, "You wouldn't believe the dream I had."  
  
"A bad dream?" Clem gave a little shudder. "I have nightmares, sometimes. Once, I dreamed that I was lost in this huge block of swiss cheese, trying to get out by climbing through the holes, but only getting more and more lost until I started to eat my way out, and then, well. it got pretty gross."  
  
"No, not a cheese dream," Spike said with gritty patience. "It was. hot."  
  
Clem relaxed a little. "Was it the one where Drusilla's a human and."  
  
"Who's Drusilla?" asked the other vampire idly as she picked at her long, painted nails.  
  
Casting a wary glace at Spike from the corner of his eyes, Clem leaned towards her and whispered behind his hand, "His ex. With a capital X."  
  
"Not Dru," Spike said, tossing a card onto the table. "Haven't dreamed about her in ages. No, it couldn't be that simple. Not for ole Spike, you understand."  
  
"Oooohh," Clem said, his eyes widening as he started to understand. "You had another dream about the S-"  
  
"Yeah, her," Spike interrupted, glaring at Clem and nodding towards the vampire.  
  
"Don't worry on my account," she said, her voice drawling with boredom. "Word's out about you and the Slayer. Everyone knows you've switched teams."  
  
Color rose in Spike's face. Grinding his teeth, he started to rise to his feet, a denial hot on his lips, when the strange demon sitting beside him put a calming hand on his forearm.  
  
"Yeah?" Spike said, taking in the demon's strange appearance. Not a demon, he decided, but couldn't quite figure out how he knew that. He took another drink, slowly, giving the creature time to realize he was messing with someone dangerous, chipped or not. "Something you want?"  
  
With a hapless smile, the creature said, "No, vampire, not me. It's you who's wanting something. Or. someone."  
  
He snorted, incredulous. "I don't *want* her. Except in the very, very dead sense. It was just a dream, you nit. A dream, that's all."  
  
Blinking his red eyes solemnly, the creature tossed his cards down on the table. "A dream, you say, and yes, it was that. But what creates such dreams in a vampire?"  
  
"Nothing. There's nothing between us but bloodlust."  
  
"Lust is a part of every love, true. And love it is, or the memory of such a love, driven to the depths of your dead soul's shadow by something nearly as powerful as what it's hiding. But love is not something trivial, to be put on and taken off at will. Love is physical. It's as much a part of your body as your bones and blood. Shut off from memory, it lives within you still."  
  
Spike narrowed his eyes, confused but also intrigued. "You want to start making some kind of sense?"  
  
"I never thought it right, the love between the Slayer and her vampire. Never, until I saw the greatness, the rightness of their passion."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Clem shook his head, making the folds of loose skin jiggle. "No Slayer's ever loved a vampire. Unless you mean Angel, but he doesn't really count, having a soul and all."  
  
"This vampire had no soul. Only the love of a good woman and the will to hold onto her, to keep the purity of joy he found in the life she led him to."  
  
Snorting, Spike folded up his hand and snapped the cards, sending them flying. "Sounds like a fable to me. A tall tale to help the kiddies sleep tight in their coffins. 'Be a good little vampire and maybe you'll meet a Slayer on a white horse someday. She'll wisk you away to her castle and you'll live happily ever after. Bloody hell. You're nuts."  
  
"This is no tale. This is what I remember, what my fairy-mind holds as the truth." Leaning back in his folding chair, the creature met Spike's eyes. "You should listen to me, vampire. You should remember. Remember."  
  
"Remember what? I'm a demon. She's the Slayer. That's all there is to remember." Spike's voice held no sarcasm.  
  
"You know what you should remember. Your unconscious throws it back at you in your sleep."  
  
His mouth softened as he remembered his dream. The smell of her hair, the warmth of her body. it was almost too intense a thought to hold. "I'm a demon," he repeated, but his voice was too quiet to hold weight.  
  
Before the creature could respond, the door was flung open and Riley crashed into the room. He honed in on Spike, ignoring the others. "Stand up," he growled, his hands doubling into fists. "You think you're man enough for Buffy? Get up and fight like one!"  
  
Smirking, Spike scooted his chair back from the table. "You're late, soldier boy. Not two seconds ago, I was telling the blokes here that I'm too demon for the Slayer. Toddle off now, eh? Got cards to play, and you're not invited."  
  
"Get. up." Riley ground out, "or I will get you up."  
  
"Or you will 'get me up'? What kind of a threat is that?" Spike's bravado slipped a little at the sight of the stake Riley pulled from the back of his waistband. "Or, okay, it wasn't that bad."  
  
"Up!" Riley grabbed him by the front of his shirt and shoved him up against the wall. Pulling the stake out, he reared his arm back and shoved it into Spike's chest, stopping just short of his heart. Breathing hard, he twisted it, holding Spike up as the vampire suppressed a groan. "You think you can mess with her? Make her touch you?"  
  
"What. are you talking. about." Spike wheezed, trying to stay still.  
  
"Xander told me everything, Spike. You put a spell on her. Made her protect you."  
  
"Harris is a wanker, always has been. He doesn't know jack about spells, or about me. Or about Buffy for that matter, but-" He pressed his lips together. True as it was, telling Riley he didn't know jack about the Slayer was a bad plan at the moment.  
  
"She held your hand. Buffy wouldn't do that, not unless you did something to her." Riley tightened his hand on the stake. "Start talking, Spike. Tell me how to undo it."  
  
"Undo what? There is no sodding spell!"  
  
Taking a sharp breath, Riley nodded. "Fine. Have it your way. Whatever hold on Buffy you have, I'm sure it'll break when I kill you."  
  
Spike started to struggle, but Riley slammed his head against the wall, stunning him into half-consciousness. Behind them, Clem stood up, but Riley sensed the movement and said, "Stay back, all of you. No one else'll get hurt if you just. stay back."  
  
Clem sank back onto his chair. "The Slayer wouldn't want you to kill him. He helps her. They're. like partners or something."  
  
Slamming Spike's head back again, Riley said, "They are *not* partners." He tore the stake from Spike's chest and reared his arm back, ready to strike.  
  
"Riley, stop," Buffy said, rushing into the room and kicking the stake out of Riley's hand. Tara came in behind her and hung back by the doorway. "Let go of him."  
  
"Buffy," Riley said, dropping Spike to the ground. He rubbed his hand. "That hurt."  
  
Buffy knelt beside Spike, helping him to sit. She looked up at Riley with a furious glare. "What do you think you're doing? You were going to stake him? Why? He's defenseless, helpless."  
  
"Why are you defending him? You know he put a spell on you. God only knows what he's got planned."  
  
Tara side-stepped into the room, avoiding the female vampire who ran out the door. She gave an uneasy glace at Clem and the other creature, then moved closer to Buffy. "There was no spell. A-at least, not cast by Spike. He's not adept enough to do magick of that level."  
  
"See? He's too. he's just Spike, Riley."  
  
"Yeah," Spike said sarcastically, his head lolling dizzily to one side as he sat with his back against the wall. "Harmless ole me."  
  
"You. shut up," Buffy hissed. The urge to touch his hair ran through her like electricity; she folded her tingling hands together. "Just. hush, okay? I'll get you home."  
  
Riley's eyebrows shot up. "You're taking him back to his crypt? Don't you think that's a bit. friendly?"  
  
"I think you need to back off and go home. We're fine, no thanks to your testosterone poisoning." She stood and pulled Spike up with her, supporting him with an arm around his waist. "Call me tomorrow, if you're over this. If not, well." She brushed past him towards the door, not knowing how to finish her sentence.  
  
"Wait!" cried the creature. He jumped up from the table and ran over to Buffy. Bowing deeply, he grinned at her. "Happy greetings, Slayer."  
  
"O-kay?" she said uncertainly. "And you are?"  
  
"A friend of yours, always, mistress. And his friend as well," the creature said, touching Spike's arm with an enormous hand.  
  
"Friends are good. Really. But we have to go now," she said, starting forward.  
  
"Wait!" The creature stood on his toes, making himself tall enough to whisper in Spike's ear. "Vampire?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"The flower shop on Market street. They have orchids. The Slayer's favorite." The creature pressed his fingers into Spike's bicep and, nodding to Buffy, let them pass.  
  
  
  
*****  
  
  
  
Saying goodbye to Tara, Buffy walked slowly as she half-carried Spike down the street towards his cemetery. "You're heavier than you look," she said, trying not to trip over the curb as they made their way onto the sidewalk. Her arm was wound tightly around his waist. He'd managed to sling one arm over her shoulders, and she held it there with a firm grasp on his hand.  
  
Looking at her sideways, Spike said, "I'm not a weakling, despite what you told Finn."  
  
Meeting his gaze was too intense. She dropped her eyes to the sidewalk. "Who's getting carried home?"  
  
"Let's see how well you walk after someone bashed your head into a wall."  
  
They walked in silence for a few minutes, neither of them able to find any words strong enough to cut through the energy that cocooned them together on the dark street. Emotions rose and fell in Buffy's chest. She shook her head, trying to make herself focus on what was real instead of the insanity taking place inside of her.  
  
Spike finally couldn't take the silence anymore. He stopped walking, making Buffy stop as well. "What's happening to us?"  
  
"I don't know. But I don't think it's a spell. At least, that's not what's making me feel like this. I can't explain how I know, except." She blushed.  
  
"We've been there, done that, before. Red's spell felt different. This feel's. older, somehow."  
  
"Realer," Buffy muttered.  
  
"That's not a word, pet. But yeah, more real." He tightened his grip on her hand instead of asking the words that pounded inside of him. Could this be real? Could we really love each other?   
  
Feeling his fingers squeeze, she held him more firmly around the waist. His bleached head rested briefly against her shoulder. The pleasure of his closeness swept over her; amazed and dazed, she closed her eyes. "This is bad. That's what I should say. That's what I should feel. But it doesn't feel bad. It feels. yeah, like you said. Old. Like we've been. like this, for a long time."  
  
"So, now what?"  
  
Turning her face into his hair for the length of a heartbeat, she felt her muscles relax. Something about him put her at ease. Realizing it was a mixture of his nearness, the feel of his hand in hers, and the softness of his hair, she let out a sigh of confusion. "I don't know what to do. About you, about the way I'm feeling. even about my friends. Xander's back at the Magic Box thinking that I'm gonna kill him if he touches you, and really, that's how I felt. I would've stopped him, hurt him. for you. He's probably hating me about now. And Riley." She sighed again. "God. What am I going to do about Riley?"  
  
Spike nuzzled his head against hers, but only once, only so lightly they could both pretend he hadn't. "Forget your mates, Buffy. Forget your. Riley. They're not feeling what we are. It's not their. their fight. Their dance. We have to figure out what to do now. Just us, not them."  
  
"I don't know what to do. All I know is. this. Here, with you. And that it's good, somehow."  
  
Her hair brushed over his face and he took in her scent. It made him shudder with memory. She smells like flowers and. like me. Impossible, but true. "Alright then. Come on, let's go."  
  
"That's the wrong way," she said, frowning with concern. "You're hurt that bad? You don't know where you're going?"  
  
"We're making a little stop first," he said, offering her a smile that widened when she returned it.  
  
"Where at?"  
  
"Market Street." 


End file.
